■ 

^^IHP 

^^SHHR^^B 

I 

^^^R^^I^T 

1 

1 

It 

i^-^y . 

<?! 

^^^^H^ 

So 

^^^^^^^^H 

L-  V  * 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/captainmargaretrOOn7aserich 


CAPTAIN   MARGARET 


ANNOUNCEMENTS 

WHEN  THE  TIDE  TURNS 
By  Filson  Young.    6*. 

EASY  MONEY 

By  Bertram  Atkey.    6s. 

CHILDREN   OF   THE 
GUTTER 
By  Arthur  Applin.    6s. 

RENlfcE 

By  Henry  Curties.    6s. 

THE  CRIMSON  CONQUEST 
By  C.  B.  Hudson.    6s. 

GET-RICH-QUICK 
WALLINGFORD 

By  G.  Randolph  Chester.    6*. 

AUNT  MAUD 

By  Ernbst  Oldmeadow.    6s. 


GRANT  RICHARDS,   LONDON 


CAPTAIN 

MARGARET 


A  ROMANCE 


BY 


JOHN    MASEFIELD 

// 


/  thought  Love  lived  in  the  hot  sunshine 
Buty  Of  he  lives  in  the  moony  light. 


I 


LONDON 
GRANT    RICHARDS 

1909 


A' 


Tie  cover  design  of  this  •volume  is  taken  from 
Mr.  Symington's  draiving  in  **  TAe  Inchcape 
Rock"  by  permission  of  Messrs.  Burns  and 
Oates.  Ltd, 


)''>  „■ 


First  Printed    ....     June  1908 
Reprinted Jan.    1909 


TO 

MY  WIFE 


^1 fi479 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     The  "Broken  Heart" i 

II.     A  Farewell 28 

III.  Outwards -52 

IV.  A  Cabin  Council 87 

V.     Stukeley 117 

VI.  A  Supper  Party       .        .        .        .        :        .140 

VII.  The  Tobacco  Merchant          .        .        .        .178 

VIII.     In  Port 212 

IX.     A  Farewell  Dinner 236 

X.    The  Landfall 273 

XI.    The  Flag  of  Truce 304 

XII.     The  End 340 


The  "BROKEN  HEART" 


All  this  the  world  well  knows  ;  yet  none  knows  well 
To  shun  the  heaven  that  leads  men  to  this  hell.' 


npHE  short  summer  night  was  over  ;  the  stars 
were  paling  ;  there  was  a  faint  light  above  the 
hills.  The  flame  in  the  ship's  lantern  felt  the  day 
beginning.  A  cock  in  the  hen-coop  crowed,  flapping 
his  wings.  The  hour  was  full  of  mystery.  Though 
it  was  still,  it  was  full  of  the  suggestion  of  noise. 
There  was  a  rustle,  a  murmur,  a  sense  of  prepara- 
tion. Already,  in  the  farms  ashore,  the  pails  went 
clanking  to  the  byres.  Very  faintly,  from  time  to 
time,  one  heard  the  lowing  of  a  cow,  or  the  song 
of  some  fisherman,  as  he  put  out,  in  the  twilight, 
to  his  lobster-pots,  sculling  with  one  oar. 

Dew  had  fallen  during  the  night.  The  decks  of 
the  Broken  Hearty  lying  at  anchor  there,  with  the 
lantern  burning  at  her  peak,  were  wet  with  dew. 
Dew  dripped  from  her  running  rigging  ;  the  gleam 
of  wetness  was  upon  her  guns,  upon  her  rails,  upon 
the  bell  in  the  poop  belfry.  She  seemed  august, 
lying  there  in  the  twilight.  Her  sailors,  asleep  on 
her  deck,  in  the  shadow,  below  the  break  of  the 
quarter-deck,  were  unlike  earthly  sleepers.  The 
old  boatswain,  in  the  blue  boat-cloak,  standing  at 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'•  •.  .-  the' gane^way' watching  the  dawn,  was  august,  sphinx- 
..  ,  ,Jikq,.  .symbplie.  The  two  men  who  stood  above 
r  :•*; /'h-impn  tbe\  quarter-deck  spoke  quietly,  in  hushed 
voices,  as  though  the  hour  awed  them.  Even  the 
boy  by  the  lantern,  far  aft,  stood  silently,  moved  by 
the  beauty  of  the  time.  Over  the  water,  by  Sal- 
combe,  the  fishers'  boats  got  under  way  for  the  sea. 
The  noise  of  the  halliards  creaked,  voices  called  in 
the  dusk,  blocks  piped,  coils  of  rope  rattled  on  the 
planks.  The  flower  of  the  day  was  slowly  opening 
in  the  east,  the  rose  of  the  day  was  bursting.  It 
was  the  dim  time,  the  holy  time,  the  moment  of 
beauty,  which  would  soon  pass,  was  even  now 
passing,  as  the  sea  gleamed,  brightening,  lighting 
up  into  colour. 

Slowly  the  light  grew  :  it  came  in  rosy  colour 
upon  the  ship  ;  it  burned  like  a  flame  upon  the 
spire-top.  The  fishers  in  their  boats,  moving  over 
the  talking  water,  watched  the  fabric  as  they  passed. 
She  loomed  large  in  the  growing  light ;  she  caught 
the  light  and  gleamed  ;  the  tide  went  by  her  with  a 
gurgle.  The  dim  light  made  her  larger  than  she 
was,  it  gave  her  the  beauty  of  all  half-seen  things. 
The  dim  light  was  like  the  veil  upon  a  woman's  face. 
She  was  a  small  ship  (only  five  hundred  tons),  built 
of  aromatic  cedar,  and  like  all  wooden  ships  she 
would  have  looked  ungainly,  had  not  her  great 
beam,  and  the  height  of  her  after-works,  given  her 
a  majesty,  something  of  the  royal  look  which  all 
ships  have  in  some  proportion.  The  virtue  of 
man  had  been  busy  about  her.  An  artist's  heart, 
hungry  for  beauty,  had  seen  the  idea  of  her  in 
dream  ;  she  had  her  counterpart  in  the  kingdom  of 
vision.     There  was  a  spirit  in  her,  as  there  is  in  all 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART' 

things  fashioned  by  the  soul  of  man  ;  not  a  spirit 
of  beauty,  not  a  spirit  of  strength,  but  the  spirit  of 
her  builder,  a  Peruvian  Spaniard.  She  had  the  im- 
press of  her  builder  in  her,  a  mournful  state,  a  kind 
of  battered  grandeur,  a  likeness  to  a  type  of  man- 
hood. There  was  in  her  a  beauty  not  quite  achieved, 
as  though,  in  the  husk  of  the  man,  the  butterfly's 
wings  were  not  quite  free.  There  was  in  her  a 
strength  that  was  clumsy  ;  almost  the  strength  of 
one  vehement  from  fear.  She  came  from  a  man's 
soul,  stamped  with  his  defects.  Standing  on  her 
deck,  one  could  see  the  man  laid  bare — melancholy, 
noble,  and  wanting — till  one  felt  pity  for  the  ship 
which  carried  his  image  about  the  world.  Seamen 
had  lived  in  her,  seamen  had  died  in  her  ;  she  had 
housed  many  wandering  spirits.  She  was,  in  her- 
self, the  house  of  her  maker's  spirit,  as  all  made 
things  are,  and  wherever  her  sad  beauty  voyaged, 
his  image,  his  living  memory  voyaged,  infinitely 
mournful,  because  imperfect,  unapprehended.  Some 
of  those  who  had  sailed  in  her  had  noticed  that  the 
caryatides  of  the  rails,  the  caryatides  of  the  quarter- 
gallery,  and  the  figurehead  which  watched  over  the 
sea,  were  all  carven  portraits  of  the  one  woman. 
But  of  those  who  noticed,  none  knew  that  they 
touched  the  bloody  heart  of  a  man,  that  before 
them  was  the  builder's  secret,  the  key  to  his  soul. 
The  men  who  sailed  in  the  Broken  Heart  were  not 
given  to  thoughts  about  her  builder.  When  they 
lay  in  port,  among  all  the  ships  of  the  world,  among 
the  flags  and  clamour,  they  took  no  thought  of 
beauty.  They  would  have  laughed  had  a  man  told 
them  that  all  that  array  of  ships,  so  proud,  so  beauti- 
ful, came  from  the  brain  of  man  because  a  woman's 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

lips  were  red.  It  is  a  proud  thing  to  be  a  man, 
and  to  feel  the  stir  of  beauty  ;  but  it  is  more 
wonderful  to  be  a  woman,  and  to  have,  or  to  be, 
the  touch  calling  beauty  into  life. 

She  had  been  a  week  in  coming  from  the  Pool  to 
the  Start.  In  the  week  her  crew  had  settled  down 
from  their  last  drunkenness.  The  smuts  had  been 
washed  from  the  fife-rails  ;  the  ropes  upon  the 
pins  had  lost  the  London  grime  from  the  lay  of 
the  strands.  Now,  as  the  sun  rose  behind  the 
combes,  flooding  the  land  with  light,  smiting  the 
water  with  gold,  the  boy,  standing  far  aft,  ran  up 
her  colours,  and  the  boatswain,  in  his  blue  boat- 
cloak,  bending  forward  slightly,  blowing  his 
smouldering  match,  fired  the  sunrise  gun,  raising 
his  linstock  in  salute.  The  sleepers  stirred  among 
their  blankets;  one  or  two,  fully  wakened,  raised 
themselves  upon  their  elbows.  A  block  creaked  as 
the  peak  lantern  was  hauled  down.  Then  with  a 
shrill  wail  the  pipe  sounded  the  long  double  call, 
slowly  heightening  to  piercing  sharpness,  which  bids 
all  hands  arise. 

The  sunshine,  now  brilliant  everywhere,  showed 
that  the  Broken  Heart  was  '  by  the  head,'  like  most 
of  the  ships  of  her  century.  Her  lines  led  down- 
wards, in  a  sweep,  from  the  lantern  on  the  taffrail 
to  the  bowed,  inclining  figurehead.  A  wooden 
frame  thrust  outward  over  the  sea  ;  the  cutwater 
swept  up  to  meet  it ;  at  the  outer  end,  under  the 
bowsprit,  the  figurehead  gleamed — the  white  body 
of  a  woman,  the  breasts  bared,  the  eyes  abased,  the 
hands  clasped,  as  in  prayer,  below  the  breasts. 
Beyond  the  cutwater,  looking  aft,  were  the  bluff 
bows,  swollen  outwards,  rising  to  the  square  wall  of 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

the  forecastle,  from  which  the  catheads  thrust.  The 
chains  of  the  fore-rigging,  black  with  deadeyes  and 
thickly  tarred  matting,  stood  out  against  the  dingy 
yellow  of  the  paint.  Further  aft  was  the  gangway, 
with  its  nailed  cleats  ;  then  the  main-chains,  and  the 
rising  of  the  cambered  side  for  poop  and  quarter- 
deck. Far  aft  was  the  outward  bulge  of  the  coach, 
heavy  with  gold  leaf,  crowned  by  the  three  stern- 
lanterns.  The  painters  had  been  busy  about  her 
after-works.  The  blue  paint  among  the  gilding 
was  bright  wherever  the  twisted  loves  and  leaves 
left  space  for  it.  Standing  at  the  taffrail  and  looking 
forward,  one  could  see  all  over  her  ;  one  could  com- 
mand her  length,  the  rows  of  guns  upon  her  main 
deck,  the  masts  standing  up  so  stately,  the  forecastle 
bulkhead,  the  hammock  nettings,  the  bitts  and 
poop-rails  with  their  carvings,  each  stanchion  a 
caryatid,  the  square  main-hatch  with  its  shot  rack, 
the  scuttle-butt  ringed  with  bright  brass,  the  boats 
on  the  booms  amidships,  the  booms  themselves, 
the  broken  heart  painted  in  scarlet  on  their  heels. 

The  two  men  on  the  poop  turned  as  the  boat- 
swain piped.  They  turned  to  walk  aft,  on  the 
weather  side,  along  the  wet  planks,  so  trimly  par- 
quetted.  They  walked  quietly,  the  one  from  a 
natural  timidity,  the  other  from  custom,  following 
the  old  tradition  of  the  sea,  which  bids  all  men 
respect  the  sleeper.  The  timid  one,  never  a  great 
talker,  spoke  little  ;  but  his  wandering  eyes  were 
busy  taking  in  the  view,  noting  all  things,  even 
when  his  fellow  thought  him  least  alive.  He  was 
the  friend  of  Captain  Margaret,  the  ship*s  owner. 
His  name  was  Edward  Perrin.  He  was  not  yet 
thirty-five  ;  but  wild  living  had  aged  him,  and  his 


CAFF  JIN  MARGARET 

hair  was  fast  turning  grey.  He  was  wrinkled,  and 
his  drawn  face  and  drooping  carriage  told  of  a 
sapped  vitality,  hardly  worth  the  doctoring.  It  was 
only  now  and  then,  when  the  eyes  lifted  and  the 
face  flushed  with  animation,  that  the  soul  showed 
that  it  still  lived  within,  driving  the  body  (all 
broken  as  it  was)  as  furiously  as  it  had  ever  driven. 
He  suffered  much  from  ill-health,  for  he  was  ever 
careless  ;  and  when  he  was  ill,  his  feeble  brains  were 
numbed,  so  that  he  talked  with  difficulty.  When 
he  was  well  he  had  brilliant  but  exhausting  flashes, 
touches  of  genius,  sallies  of  gaiety,  of  tenderness, 
which  gave  him  a  singular  charm,  not  abiding,  but 
enough  to  win  him  the  friends  whom  he  irritated 
when  ill-health  returned.  In  his  youth  he  had  run 
through  his  little  fortune  in  evil  living.  Now  that 
he  was  too  weak  for  further  folly,  he  lived  upon  a 
small  pittance  which  he  had  been  unable  to  spend 
owing  to  the  forethought  of  a  bequeathing  aunt. 
He  had  only  two  interests  in  life  :  Captain  Mar- 
garet, whom  he  worshipped  with  touching  loyalty  ; 
and  the  memories  of  his  wild  youth,  so  soon  spoiled, 
so  soon  ended.  Among  those  memories  was  the 
memory  of  a  woman  who  had  once  refused  his  offer 
of  marriage.  He  had  not  loved  the  woman,  for  he 
was  incapable  of  love  ;  he  was  only  capable  of 
affection  ;  but  the  memory  of  this  woman  was  sweet 
to  him  because  she  seemed  to  give  some  note  of 
splendour,  almost  of  honour,  to  his  vicious  courses. 
He  felt,  poor  wastrel,  poor  burnt  moth,  that  his 
life  had  touched  romance,  that  it  was  a  part  of  all 
high  beauty,  that  some  little  tongue  of  flame  had 
sealed  him.  He  had  loved  unavailingly,  he  thought, 
but  with  all  the  lovely  part  of  him.     Now  that  he 

6 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

was  broken  by  excess  he  felt  like  the  king  in  the 
tale,  who,  wanting  one  thing,  had  given  up  all 
things,  that  the  grass  might  be  the  sooner  over  him. 
Vice  and  poverty  had  given  him  a  wide  knowledge 
of  life  ;  but  of  life  in  its  hardness  and  cynicism, 
stripped  of  its  flowers.  His  one  fond  memory, 
his  one  hopeless  passion,  as  he  called  it,  the  one 
time  in  his  life  when  he  had  lived  emotionally,  had 
given  him,  strangely  enough,  an  odd  understanding 
of  women,  which  made  him  sympathetic  to  them. 
His  ill-health  gave  him  a  distaste  for  life,  particu- 
larly for  society.  He  avoided  people,  and  sought 
for  individuals  ;  he  hated  men,  and  loved  his  master  ; 
he  despised  women,  in  spite  of  his  memory  of  a 
woman  ;  but  he  found  individual  women  more 
attractive  than  they  would  have  liked  to  think. 
Intellectually,  he  was  nothing  ;  for  he  had  never 
grown  up  ;  he  had  never  come  to  manhood.  As 
a  boy  he  had  had  the  vices  of  a  man  ;  as  a  man 
he  had,  in  consequence,  the  defects  of  a  woman. 
He  was  a  broken,  emotional  creature,  attractive  and 
pathetic,  the  stick  of  a  rocket  which  had  blazed 
across  heaven.  He  was  at  once  empty  and  full  of 
tenderness,  cruel  and  full  of  sympathy,  capable  of 
rising,  on  his  feelings,  to  heroic  self-sacrifice  ;  but 
likely,  perhaps  on  the  same  day,  to  sink  to  depths 
of  baseness.  He  was  tall  and  weedy-looking,  very 
wretched  and  haggard.  He  delighted  in  brilliant 
clothes,  and  spent  much  of  his  little  store  in  mercers* 
shops.  He  wore  a  suit  of  dark  blue  silk,  heavily 
laced  at  the  throat  and  wrists.  The  sleeves  of  his 
coat  were  slashed,  so  as  to  show  a  bright  green  satin 
lining  ;  for,  like  most  vicious  men,  he  loved  the 
colour  green,  and  delighted  in  green  clothes.     He 

7 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

drooped  forward  as  he  walked,  with  his  head  a  little 
on  one  side.  His  clumsy,  ineffectual  hands  hung 
limply  from  thin  wrists  in  front  of  him.  But 
always,  as  he  walked,  the  tired  brain,  too  tired  to 
give  out,  took  in  unceasingly,  behind  the  mask  of 
the  face.  He  had  little  memory  for  events,  for 
words  spoken  to  him,  for  the  characters  of  those 
he  met  ;  but  he  had  instead  a  memory  for  places 
which  troubled  his  peace,  it  was  so  perfect.  As  he 
walked  softly  up  and  down  the  poop  with  Captain 
Cammock  that  lovely  morning,  he  took  into  his 
brain  a  memory  of  Salcombe  harbour,  so  quiet 
below  its  combes,  which  lasted  till  he  died.  Often 
afterwards,  when  he  was  in  the  strange  places  of  the 
world,  the  memory  of  the  ships  came  back  to  him, 
he  heard  the  murmur  of  the  tide,  the  noise  of  the 
gulls  quarrelling,  the  crying  out  of  sailors  at  work. 
A  dog  on  one  combe  chased  an  old  sheep  to  the 
hedge  above  the  beach  of  the  estuary. 

'  I  am  like  that  sheep,'  thought  Perrin,  not  un- 
justly, ^and  the  hound  of  desire  drives  me  where 
it  will.*  He  did  not  mention  his  thought  to  Cap- 
tain Cammock,  for  he  had  that  fear  of  being  laughed 
at  which  is  only  strong  in  those  who  know  that  they 
are  objects  of  mirth  to  others. 

'  I'll  soon  show  you,'  he  cried  aloud,  continuing 
his  thought  to  a  rupture  with  an  imaginary  mocker. 

*  What'll  you  show  me  ? '  said  Captain  Cammock. 

'  Nothing.  Nothing,'  said  Perrin  hastily.  He 
blushed  and  turned  to  look  at  the  town,  so  that  the 
captain  should  not  see  his  face. 

Captain  Cammock  was  a  large,  surly-looking  man, 
with  long  black  hair  which  fell  over  his  shoulders. 
His  face,  ruddy  originally,  was  of  a  deep  copper 

8 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

colour  ;  handsome  enough,  in  spite  of  the  surly 
look,  which,  at  first  glance,  passed  for  sternness. 
There  were  crow's-feet  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes, 
from  long  gazing  through  heat  haze  and  to  wind- 
ward. He  wore  heavy  gold  ear-rings,  of  a  strange 
pattern,  in  his  ears  ;  and  they  became  him  ;  though 
nothing  angered  him  more  than  to  be  told  so.  '  I 
wear  them  for  my  sight,'  he  would  say.  '  I  ain't 
no  town  pimp,  like  you.'  The  rest  of  his  gear 
was  also  strange  and  rich,  down  to  the  stockings 
and  the  buckled  shoes,  not  because  he  was  a  town 
pimp  like  others,  but  because,  in  his  last  voyage, 
he  had  made  free  with  the  wardrobe  of  the  Governor 
of  Valdivia.  A  jewel  of  gold,  acquired  at  the  same 
time,  clasped  at  his  throat  a  piece  of  scarlet  stuff, 
richly  embroidered,  which,  covering  his  chest,  might 
have  been  anything,  from  a  shirt  to  a  handkerchief. 
The  Spanish  lady  who  had  once  worn  it  as  a  petti- 
coat would  have  said  that  it  became  him.  His 
answer  to  the  Spanish  lady  would  have  been, '  Well, 
I  ain't  one  of  your  dressy  ducks  ;  but  1  have  my 
points.'  Those  who  had  seen  him  in  ragged  linen 
drawers,  pulling  a  canoa  off  the  Main,  between 
Tolu  and  the  Headlands,  with  his  chest,  and  bare 
arms,  and  naked  knees,  all  smeared  with  fat,  to 
keep  away  the  mosquitoes,  would  have  agreed  with 
him. 

'  There's  one  thing  I  wish  you'd  show  me,'  said 
Captain  Cammock,  glancing  at  the  schooners  at 
anchor. 

'  What's  that  ^ '  said  Perrin. 

'  Well,'  said  Captain  Cammock,  turning  towards 
the  harbour  entrance,  '  why  has  Captain  Margaret 
put  into  Salcombe  }     Wasting  a  fair  wind  I  call  it. 

9 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

We  could  a-drove  her  out  of  soundings   if  we'd 
held  our  course.* 

'  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  that,  Captain 
Cammock.  I  know,  of  course.  It  has  to  do  with 
the  whole  cruise.     Personal  reasons.* 

Captain  Cammock  snorted. 

^A  lop-eared  job  the  cruise  is,  if  you  ask  me,' 
he  growled. 

M  thought  you  approved  of  it.' 

*  I'll  approve  of  it  when  we're  safe  home  again, 
and  the  ship's  accounts  passed.  Now,  Mr.  Perrin, 
I'm  a  man  of  peace,  I  am.  I  don't  uphold  going 
in  for  trouble.  There's  trouble  enough  on  all 
men's  tallies.  But  what  you're  going  to  do  beats 
me.' 

Perrin  murmured  a  mild  assent.  The  pirate's 
vehemence  generally  frightened  him. 

^  Look  here,  now,  Mr.  Perrin,'  the  captain  went 
on.  *  One  gentleman  to  another,  now.  Here  am 
I  sailing-master.  I'm  to  navigate  this  ship  to 
Virginia,  and  then  to  another  port  to  be  named 
when  we  leave  England.  I  don't  know  what  you 
want  me  to  do,  do  I,  James  .''  Well,  then,  can't 
you  give  me  a  quiet  hint,  like,  so  I'll  know  when 
to  shoot }  If  you  don't  like  that,  well,  you're  my 
employers,  you  needn't.  But  don't  blame  me  if 
trouble  comes.  You're  going  to  the  Main.  Oh, 
don't  start ;  I've  got  eyes,  sir.  Now  I  know  the 
Main  ;  you  don't.  Nor  you  don't  know  seamen. 
All  you  know  is  a  lot  of  town  pimps  skipping 
around  like  burnt  cats.  Here  now,  Mr.  Perrin, 
fair  and  square.     Are  you  going  on  the  account } ' 

'As  pirates  } ' 

'  As  privateers.' 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

*  Well,  you  see,  captain,*  said  Perrin,  '  it's  like 
this.  Captain  Margaret.  I  don't  know.  You 
know  that,  in  Darien,  the  Spaniards — they — they 
— they  drove  out  the  Indians  very  brutally.' 

Captain  Cammock  smiled,  as  though  pleased  with 
a  distant  memory. 

*  Oh,  them,'  he  said  lightly. 

*  Well,'  continued  Perrin.  *  You'd  have  been 
told  to-day,  anyhow  ;  so  it  doesn't  much  matter 
my  telling  you  now.  What  he  wants  to  do  is  this. 
HefVants  to  get  in  with  the  Indians  there,  and  open 
up  a  trade;  keeping  back  the  Spaniards  till  the 
English  are  thoroughly  settled.  Then,  when  we 
are  strong  enough,  to  cut  in  on  the  Spanish  treasure- 
trains,  like  Sir  Francis  Drake  did.  But  first  of  all, 
our  aim  is  to  open  up  a  trade.     Gold  dust.' 

Captain  Cammock's  face  grew  serious.    He  gazed, 
with  unseeing  eyes,  at  the  swans  in  the  reach. 
'  Oh,'  he  said.     '  What  give  you  that  idea  } ' 

*  Do  you  think  it  possible  ? ' 

'  I'll  think  it  over,'  he  said  curtly.  '  I'm  obliged 
to  you  for  telling  me.'  He  made  one  or  two 
quick  turns  about  the  deck.  '  Here  you,  boy,'  he 
cried, '  coil  them  ropes  up  on  the  pins.'  He  glanced 
down  at  the  quarter-deck  guns  to  see  if  the  leaden 
aprons  were  secured  over  the  touch-holes.  '  Mr. 
Perrin,'  he  continued,  *  about  Captain  Margaret. 
Has  he  got  anything  on  his  mind  } ' 

'  Yes,  captain.  He's  had  a  lot  of  trouble.  A 
woman.' 

'  I  thought  it  was  something  of  that  sort.  Rum 
or  women,  I  say.  Them  and  lawyers.  They  get 
us  all  into  trouble  sooner  or  later.' 

'  He  was  in  love  with  a  girl,'  said  Perrin.     *  He 

II 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

was  in  love  with  her  for  four  years.  Now  she's 
gone  and  married  some  one  else.' 

^  I  suppose  she  was  a  society  lady,'  said  Cam  mock, 
investing  that  class  with  the  idea  of  vices  practised 
by  his  own. 

'  She  was  very  beautiful,'  said  Perrin. 

*  And  now  she's  married,'  said  Cammock. 

*  Yes.     Married  a  blackguard.' 

^  Yes.?'  said  the  captain.  *  And  now  she'll  learn 
her  error.  Women  aren't  rational  beings,  not  like 
men  are.  What  would  a  beautiful  woman  want 
more,  with  Captain  Margaret } ' 

4t's  about  done  for  him,'  said  Perrin.  ^  He'll 
never  be  the  man  he  was.  And  as  for  her.  The 
man  she  married  was  up  for  rape  six  months  ago.' 

'  What  is  rape  ? '  said  Captain  Cammock. 

Perrin  told  him. 

*  Ah,'  said  the  captain,  shocked.  '  His  own  cook, 
too.  Isn't  that  damnable !  I've  never  done  any- 
thing as  bad  as  that.'  '  It's  a  hanging  matter,  sir. 
How  did  he  get  off.'^' 

*  Oh,  influence,'  replied  Perrin.  '  But  he  did  a 
worse  thing  than  that.  He  cheated  a  lad  out  of  all 
his  money  at  cards,  and  then  shot  him  in  a  duel.' 

'  I've  heard  of  that  being  done,'  said  the  captain. 

^  Oh,  but  he  did  a  worse  thing  than  that,'  said 
Perrin.  '  He'd  a  child  by  his  cousin  ;  and  when 
the  girl's  mother  turned  her  out  of  doors,  he  told 
her  she  might  apply  to  the  parish.' 

^  Bah  ! '  said  the  captain,  with  disgust.  *  I'd  like 
to  know  the  name  of  that  duck.  He's  a  master- 
piece.' 

'Tom  Stukeley,  his  name  is,'  said  Perrin.  *  His 
wife's  Olivia  Stukeley.     They  are  stopping  in  Sal- 

12 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

combe  here.  They  are  still  wandering  about  on 
their  honeymoon.  They  were  married  two  or 
three  months  back.' 

*  Ah,'  said  Cammock,  '  so  that's  why  the  captain 
put  in  here.  He'll  be  going  ashore,  1  reckon.' 
He  walked  to  the  break  of  the  poop  and  blew  his 
whistle.  *  Bosun,'  he  cried.  *  Get  the  dinghy  over 
the  side,  'n  clean  her  out.'  He  walked  back  to 
Perrin.  '  Much  better  get  him  away  to  sea,  sir. 
No  good'll  come  of  it.' 

'  What  makes  you  think  that } '  said  Perrin. 

*  He'll  only  see  her  with  this  Stukeley  fellow. 
It'll  only  make  him  sick.  Very  likely  make  her 
sick,  too.' 

'  1  can't  stop  him,'  said  Perrin.  '  He'll  eat  his 
heart  out  if  he  doesn't  go.  It's  better  for  him  to 
go,  and  get  a  real  sickener,  than  to  stay  away  and 
brood.     Don't  you  think  that  ^,  ' 

*  As  you  please,'  said  Cammock.  '  But  he  ain't 
going  to  do  much  on  the  Main,  if  he's  going  to 
worry  all  the  time  about  a  young  lady.  The  crowd 
you  get  on  the  Main  don't  break  their  hearts  about 
ladies,  not  as  a  general  act.' 

*  No  .? '  said  Perrin. 

The  conversation  lapsed.  The  captain  walked 
to  the  poop-rail,  to  watch  the  men  cleaning  up  the 
main-deck.  He  called  a  boy,  to  clean  the  brass- 
work  on  the  poop. 

'  Not  much  of  that  on  the  Main,  sir,  you  won't 
have,'  he  said. 

'  No  ? '  said  Perrin. 

*  No,  sir,'  said  the  captain.  '  On  the  Main,  you 
lays  your  ship  on  her  side  on  the  softest  mud  any- 
where's  handy.      And  you  gets  Indian  ducks   to 

13 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

build  little  houses  for  you.  Fine  little  houses.  And 
there  you  lays  ashore,  nine  months  of  the  year, 
listening  to  the  rain.  Swish.  Your  skin  gets  all 
soft  on  you,  like  wet  paper.  And  you'll  see  the 
cabin  below  here,  all  full  of  great  yellow  funguses. 
And  all  this  brass  will  be  as  green  as  tulips.  It 
will.  And  if  you  don't  watch  out,  you  could 
grow  them  pink  water-lilies  all  over  her.  It's 
happy  days  when  you've  a  kind  of  a  pine-apple 
tree  sprouting  through  your  bunk-boards.'  He 
paused  a  moment,  noted  the  effect  on  Perrin,  and 
resolved  to  try  an  even  finer  effort.  *  I  remember 
a  new  Jamaica  sloop  as  come  to  One  Bush  Key 
once.  I  was  logwood-cutting  in  them  times.  She 
was  one  of  these  pine-built  things  ;  she  come  from 
Ne-grill.  They  laid  her  on  her  side  in  the  lagoon, 
while  the  hands  was  cutting  logwood.  And  you 
know,  sir,  she  sprouted.  The  ground  was  that  rich 
she  sprouted.  Them  planks  took  root.  She  was  a 
tidy  little  clump  of  pines  before  I  left  the  trade.' 

'  Eight  bells,  sir,'  said  the  boy,  touching  his  cap. 

'  Thank  you,'  said  Cammock.  ^  Make  it.  Who's 
watchman,  bosun  ?  Let  him  call  me  at  once  if  any 
boat  comes  off.' 

'  Ay  ay.  Captain  Cammock,'  said  the  boatswain. 

The  steward,  an  old  negro,  dressed  in  the  worn 
red  uniform  of  a  foot-soldier,  came  with  his  bell 
to  the  break  of  the  poop,  to  announce  the  cabin 
breakfast.  The  men,  with  their  feet  bare  from 
washing  down,  were  passing  forward  to  the  fore- 
castle. Their  shirts,  of  red,  and  blue,  and  green, 
were  as  gay  as  flags.  The  wet  decks  gleamed  ;  the 
banner  blew  out  bravely  from  the  peak.  As  the 
bell  struck  its  four  couplets,  the  bosun  ran  up  to 

14 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

the  main-truck  the  house-flag,  of  Captain  Margaret's 
arms,  upon  a  ground  of  white.  The  watchman,  in 
his  best  clothes,  passed  aft  rapidly  to  the  gangway, 
swallowing  the  last  of  his  breakfast. 

*  After  you,  sir,'  said  Cammock  to  Perrin,  as 
they  made  politeness  at  the  cabin  door. 

'  Thank  you,'  said  Perrin,  with  a  little  bow. 

They  passed  in  to  the  alley-way,  to  the  cabin 
table. 

The  cabin  of  the  Broken  Heart  was  large  and  airy. 
The  stern-windows,  a  skylight  amidships,  and  the 
white  paint  upon  the  beams  and  bulkheads,  made 
it  lighter  than  the  cabins  of  most  vessels.  A 
locker,  heaped  with  green  cushions,  so  that  it 
made  a  seat  for  a  dozen  persons,  ran  below  the 
windows.  Under  the  skylight  was  the  table,  with 
revolving  chairs  about  it,  clamped  to  the  deck.  At 
both  sides  of  the  cabin  were  lesser  cabins  opening 
into  it.  On  the  port  side,  the  perpetual  wonder  of 
Captain  Cammock  (who,  though,  like  all  seamen, 
a  scrupulously  clean  man,  never  dreamed  of  dese- 
crating it  by  use),  was  a  bath-room.  To  starboard 
was  a  large,  double  state-room,  with  a  standing  bed 
in  it,  where  Captain  Margaret  slept.  Forward  of 
the  cabin  bulkhead  (which  fitted  in  a  groove,  so 
that  it  might  be  unshipped  in  time  of  battle)  were 
other  quarters,  to  which  one  passed  from  the  cabin 
by  an  alley-way  leading  to  the  deck  below  the  break 
of  the  poop.  To  port,  in  these  quarters,  was  Perrin's 
cabin,  with  Cammock's  room  beyond.  To  star- 
board was  the  steward's  pantry  and  sleeping-place, 
with  the  sail-room  just  forward  of  itc  The  bulk- 
heads were  all  painted  white,  and  each  cabin  was 
lighted  by  scuttles  from  above,  as  well  as   by  the 

15 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

heavy  gun-ports  in  the  ship's  side,  each  port-lid 
with  a  glass  bull's-eye  in  it.  The  cabins  were  there- 
fore light  and  bright,  having  always  an  air  of  cleanly 
freshness.  The  great  cabin  would  have  passed  for 
the  chamber  of  a  house  ashore,  but  for  the  stands 
of  arms,  bright  with  polished  metal,  on  each  side 
of  the  book-case.  Over  the  book-case  was  a  small 
white  shield,  on  which,  in  red  brilliants,  was  the 
Broken  Heart,  When  the  light  failed,  at  the  coming 
of  the  dusk,  the  crimson  of  the  brilliants  gleamed  ; 
there  was  a  burning  eye  above  the  book-case, 
searching  those  at  meat,  weighing  them,  judging 
them. 

The  stern-windows  were  open,  letting  in  the  sun- 
light. The  table  was  laid  for  breakfast.  The 
steward  in  his  uniform  stood  bare-headed,  waiting 
for  the  company.  The  door  of  the  state-room 
opened  smartly,  and  Captain  Margaret  entered. 
He  advanced  with  a  smile,  shook  hands  with  the 
two  men,  bidding  them  good  morning.  Perrin, 
ever  sensitive  to  his  friend,  glanced  at  him  for  a 
moment  to  note  if  he  had  slept  ill,  through 
brooding  on  his  love ;  but  the  mask  upon  his 
friend's  face  was  drawn  close,  the  inner  man  was 
hidden  ;  a  sufficient  sign  to  Perrin  that  his  friend 
was  troubled.  Captain  Cammock  looked  at  his 
employer  with  interest,  as  he  would  have  looked  at 
a  man  who  had  been  at  the  North  Pole.  '  So  he's 
in  love  with  a  girl,  hey  '^ '  he  thought.  *  Gone  half 
crazed  about  a  girl.  In  love.  And  the  lady  give 
him  the  foresheet,  hey  } '  He  even  peered  out  of 
the  stern-window  over  Salcombe,  with  the  thought 
that  somewhere  among  those  houses,  or  walking  in 
one  of  those  gardens,  went  the  lady  Olivia,  won- 

i6 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

derfully    beautiful,    squired    by    the    unspeakable 
Stukeley. 

*  Hope  we  didn't  wake  you,  sir,'  he  said  politely. 
*  One  can't  carry  on  without  noise,  coming  to 
anchor.' 

'  I  thought  I  heard  your  voice  once,'  said  Captain 
Margaret.  '  You  were  talking  about  grilling  the 
blood  of  some  one.' 

'  They  don't  understand  no  other  language,'  said 
the  captain,  with  a  grin.  Then,  rapping  the  table 
with  his  knife,  at  his  place  as  captain,  he  mumbled 
out  a  blessing.  *  Bless  this  food,  O  Lord,  for  the 
support  of  our  bodies.'  The  rest  of  the  blessing 
he  always  omitted  ;  for  a  jocular  shipmate  had  once 
parodied  it,  in  a  scandalous  manner,  much  appre- 
ciated by  himself.  '  He'd  had  a  wonderful  educa- 
tion, that  man,'  he  always  maintained.  *  He  must 
have  had  a  brain,  to  think  of  a  real  wit  like  that 
was.' 

Captain  Cammock  helped  the  fresh  salmon 
(bought  that  morning  from  a  fisherman)  with  the 
story  of  the  duff.  Until  the  tale  was  ended,  the 
company  hungered. 

*  Did  y'ever  hear  of  the  captain  and  the  passen- 
ger } '  he  asked.  '  They  was  at  dinner  on  Sunday  ; 
and  they'd  a  roll  of  duff.  So  the  captain  asks  the 
passenger,  like  I'd  ask  you  about  this  salmon.  He 
asks  him,  ^*  Do  you  like  ends.**"  No,  he  didn't 
like  no  ends,  the  passenger  didn't.  "  Well,  me 
and  my  mate  does,"  says  the  captain  ;  so  he  cuts 
the  duff  in  two,  and  gives  the  mate  one  half  and 
eats  the  other  himself.' 

*  Strange  things  happen  at  sea,'  said  Perrin. 

*  I  believe  Captain  Cammock  make.,  these  stories 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

up/  said  Margaret.     '  In  the  night-watches,  when 
he  isn't  grilling  seamen*s  bloods.* 

*  Yes/  said  Perrin,  '  yes.' 

'  Is  that  right,  captain  } '  asked  Margaret.  '  Do 
you  make  these  stories  up  yourself  .f^' 

'  No,  sir,'  said  Cammock,  ^  I've  not  got  the  educa- 
tion, and  I've  something  else  to  think  about.  These 
writer  fellows — beg  pardon.  Captain  Margaret,  I 
don't  mean  you,  sir — they're  often  very  unpractical. 
They'd  let  a  ship  fall  overboard.' 

'  So  you  think  them  very  unpractical,  do  you, 
captain  ?  '  said  Margaret.  '  What  makes  you  think 
that  ? ' 

'  Because  they  are,  sir,'  he  replied.  '  They're 
always  reading  poetry  and  that.  From  all  I  can 
make  out  of  it,  poetry's  a  lot  af  slush.' 

'Have  you  ever  read  any.'''  said  Perrin. 

'Who  .?  Me  V  said  Cammock.  '  Bless  yer,  yes. 
Reams  of  it.  A  book  of  it  called  Paradise  Lost. 
Very  religious,  some  of  it.  I  had  enough  of  poetry 
with  that  inside  me.  I  can't  say  as  I  ever  read 
much  since.' 

'  Well,  captain,'  said  Margaret,  '  it  hasn't  made 
you  unpractical.' 

'  No,  sir,'  said  the  captain.  '  But  then  I  never 
give  it  a  chance  to.  I've  always  had  my  work  to 
see  to.' 

'  And  what  has  been  your  work  .?  Always  with 
ships  } ' 

'  No,  sir,  I  was  logwood-cutter  one  time.' 

'  And  what  is  logwood-cutting  like  } ' 

'  Oh,  it's  hard  work,  sir.  Don't  you  forget  it. 
You're  chopping  all  the  forenoon,  and  splitting 
what  you  chopped   all  afternoon,  and  rolling  the 

i8 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

pieces  to  the  lagoon  all  evening.  And  all  night 
you  drinks  rum  and  sings.  Then  up  again  next 
morning.  Your  arms  get  all  bright  red  from  log- 
wood, and  you  get  a  taste  for  sucking  the  chips. 
A  queer  taste.' 

'  And  who  buys  your  logwood  } '  said  Margaret. 
*  Who  uses  it }     What's  it  used  for  } ' 

'  I  don't  rightly  know  about  that,  except  for 
dyeing,'  said  Cammock.  '  A  Captain  Brown  bought 
all  we  cut.  But  we'd  great  times  along  the  banks 
of  the  lagoon.' 

*  When  you  say  great  times,'  said  Margaret, 
'  what  do  you  mean  exactly .?  What  was  it,  in 
logwood-cutting,  which  seems  great  to  you  }  And 
,was  it  great  to  you  then,  or  only  now,  when  you 

look  back  on  it } ' 

'  Did  y'ever  hear  tell  of  the  "  last  ship,"  sir  } ' 
said  Cammock.  With  another  man  he  might  have 
resented  the  continual  questioning ;  but  Captain 
Margaret  always  made  him  feel  that  he,  old  pirate 
as  he  was,  had  yet,  even  in  spite  of,  perhaps  by 
reason  of,  his  piracies,  a  claim  upon,  an  interest  for, 
the  man  of  intellect  and  the  man  of  culture.  '  Did 
y'ever  hear  tell  of  the  "  last  ship,"  sir  } '  said  Cam- 
mock. 

'  No,'  said  Margaret.  '  Tell  us  about  the  last 
ship.' 

'  Do  you  mean  Noah's  ark  V  said  Perrin. 

*  The  public-house  '^ '  asked  the  captain. 

'  No.     A  ship.     I'll  tell  you  of  the  last  ship.' 
'  What  has  the  last  ship  got  to  do  with  the  great 

times  on  the  lagoon  ^ '  asked  Margaret. 

'  Just  this.  Captain  Margaret.     When  a  growler. 

A  pug,  you  understand  ;  one  of  the  hands  forward 

19 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

there.  When  a  seaman  comes  aboard  a  new  ship, 
he  always  blows  at  the  rate  of  knots  about  his  last. 
You'll  never  hear  of  the  ship  he's  in.  No,  sir. 
She's  hungry.  Or  wet.  Or  her  old  man's  a  bad 
one.  But  so  soon  as  he  leaves  her.  Oh,  my  love, 
what  a  ship  she  was,  my  love.  Bacon  for  break- 
fast ;  fires  to  dry  your  clothes  at ;  prayers  and  rum 
of  a  Sunday  forenoon.  Everything.  That's  what 
I  mean  by  a  last  ship.  So  when  I  says  we'd  great 
times  on  the  lagoon,  why,  it's  only  a  way  of  speak- 
ing. I  mean  as  it  seems  just  beautiful,  now  it's 
over.  I'll  just  trouble  you,  Mr.  Perrin,  if  there*s 
any  more  beer  in  the  jug.* 

'  So  that's  the  last  ship.  Captain  Cammock,'  said 
Margaret.  'Well,  and  now  tell  us  what  seems 
great  to  you,  when  you  think  of — of  your  last  ship, 
in  the  lagoon,  as  you  call  it.' 

Captain  Cammock  looked  at  Perrin,  who  seldom 
spoke  at  meals,  perhaps  because  his  intellect  was 
too  feeble  to  allow  him  to  do  more  than  one  thing 
at  a  time.  Perrin,  who  hated  to  be  looked  at  when 
he  was  eating,  from  some  shy  belief  that  no  one 
looked  at  him  save  with  a  desire  to  laugh,  gulped 
what  he  had  in  his  mouth  at  the  moment,  choked, 
and  hid  his  confusion  in  his  tankard.  Captain 
Cammock  did  the  same,  lest  he  should  appear 
rude. 

'  Now  that's  no  easy  question.  Captain  Mar- 
garet,' he  said.  '  It  wasn't  great,  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it.  It  was  hard  work.  As  hard  as 
shovelling  coal.  And  hot.  Oh,  it's  hot  in  them 
lagoons.  Sometimes  our  shirts  would  be  wringing 
wet  with  perspiration.  And  often  we  were  up  to 
our  knees  in  mud,  where  we  worked,  and  little  red 

20 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

devils  biting  us,  besides  musquitoes.  And  there 
were  thorns  on  the  logwood  ;  spikes  as  sharp  as 
stings.' 

'  What  were  your  amusements  ? '  said  Margaret. 

'  Oh,  as  to  them,'  replied  the  captain.  '  We'd 
go  hunt  a  wild  cow  on  Saturdays.  Or  perhaps 
fish.  Or  sometimes  we'd  go  a  lot  of  us  among 
the  Indians,  to  a  paw-waw.  And  then  ships 
come.  We'd  great  times  when  ships  come.  In 
the  moonlight.  We'd  sing  and  drink  rum.  And 
firing  off  pistols  and  cheering.  Oh,  we'd  great 
times.' 

'  Why  don't  you  go  back  to  it  }  *  asked  Captain 
Margaret.     *  You  don't  go  back  to  it.    Why  not  ?  * 

'  It  wouldn't  be  the  same,'  said  Cammock,  as  he 
prepared  his  morning's  pipe.  '  The  men  I  knowed 
are  gone.  They'd  have  new  ways,  the  new  lot. 
Besides,  that  sort  of  thing  only  goes  when  you're 
young.  When  you  get  the  salt  in  your  bones, 
you  find  the  young  devils  don't  like  having  you 
around.  And  the  girls  get  particular.  You  can't 
get  a  wife  no  longer  for  a  yard  of  blue  baize  and 
a  stick  of  sealing-wax.  Excuse  me,  captain.  I'm 
a  sailor.  I  sometimes  talk  rough.  But  there  it 
is.  All  a  sailor  has  at  the  end  is  just  what  he  can 
remember.  What  I  can  mind  of  logwood-cutting 
is  the  same  as  a  trader's  money-bags  is  to  him.  I 
must  be  off  forward,  to  have  my  morning  draw.' 
He  spun  his  chair  round,  and  rose,  pressing  the 
tobacco  into  his  clay  pipe.  *  Give  me  my  hat, 
stooard.'  He  bowed  to  the  two  friends,  walking 
slowly  to  the  cabin  door.  '  By  the  way,  sir,'  he 
called  back.  '  I  forgot  to  ask.  I  suppose  you'll 
be  going  ashore  this  fine  morning  } ' 

21 


CAFFAIN  MARGARET 

*  Yes,*  said  Margaret,  '  I  am  going  ashore.  I 
shall  want  the  boat,  captain.' 

'Very  good,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  'Will  you 
want  to  fill  our  water,  sir  ? ' 

'  No,'  said  Margaret.  '  I  shall  sail  before  sunset, 
if  the  wind  holds.  We  shall  fill  no  more  water 
till  we  make  Virginia.' 

'Very  good.  Captain  Margaret,'  said  Cammock. 
'  If  you  don't  want  the  hands,  I'll  try  them  at  the 
guns.  It's  time  they  got  into  the  way  of  doing 
things.' 

He  spun  upon  his  heel,  leaving  the  two  friends 
together.  The  steward,  gathering  up  the  gear, 
retired  to  the  pantry  to  wash  up. 

Captain  Charles  Margaret,  the  owner  of  the 
Broken  Hearty  sitting  there  in  his  chair,  in  the  quiet 
cabin,  was  not  yet  forty  ;  but  his  brown  hair  was 
grizzled,  and  his  handsome  face,  so  grave,  so  full 
of  dignity,  was  marked  austerely  with  lines.  He 
gave  one,  at  first,  the  impression  of  a  man  who  had 
lived  fully,  grandly,  upon  many  sides  of  life  ;  with 
a  nobility  inherent,  not  to  be  imitated.  It  was  only 
after  long  months  of  friendship  that  the  observer 
could  learn  the  man's  real  nature.  He  would  see 
then  that  the  real  nature,  ripened,  as  it  was,  on  so 
many  sides,  ready,  as  it  was,  to  blossom  wonder- 
fully, had  never  come  to  flower,  still  less  to  fruit. 
It  was  a  great  nature,  checked  by  some  hunger  of 
the  soul,  which  (this  is  the  sorrow  of  all  beautiful 
desire)  would  perhaps  have  destroyed  the  soul,  had 
it  been  satisfied.  He  was  one  who  had  loved  for 
many  years.  He  had  paid  away  all  the  gold  of  his 
life,  for  a  sorrow  and  a  few  copper  memories.  He 
had  loved  nobly,  like  a  man  of  the  heroic  time, 

22 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

letting  life  go  by  him  with  a  smile,  so  long  as  the 
woman  whom  he  loved  might  be  spared  one  little 
moment's  annoyance,  one  little  wrinkling  of  the 
beautiful  brow.  He  had  said  to  himself  that  he 
had  worn  this  woman's  glove,  and  that  he  would 
wear  no  other  woman's  petticoat.  And  from  long 
brooding  on  this  wayward  beauty  who  had  spoiled 
his  life,  he  had  learned  much  of  women.  He  un- 
derstood them  emotionally,  with  a  clearness  which 
sometimes  frightened  him.  He  felt  that  he  took  a 
base  advantage  of  them  in  allowing  them  to  talk 
to  him.  Their  hearts  were  open  books  to  him. 
Though  the  woman  said, '  Look  on  this  page,  or  on 
this,'  his  instinct,  never  wrong,  revealed  to  him  the 
page  she  tried  to  hide  ;  and  his  indulgence  of  this 
sense  made  him,  at  times,  of  little  use  in  conversa- 
tion ;  for  the  revealed  truth  amused  him  more  than 
its  polite  screen.  At  times  its  possession  saddened 
him,  for  he  knew  that  he  would  never  exercise 
that  sense  in  the  tenderness  of  the  accepted  lover, 
reading  the  unspoken  thought  in  the  beloved  eyes. 
In  his  person  he  was  tall  and  finely  built,  but  a 
certain  clumsiness  in  his  walk  made  his  appearance 
ungraceful  when  he  left  his  chair.  His  hands  were 
singularly  beautiful.  His  eyes  were  grey  and 
deep-set.  His  face  was  pale,  inclining  to  sallow, 
but  bronzed  by  the  wind  and  sun.  He  was 
careful,  but  quiet  in  his  dress.  He  wore  a  black 
suit,  precisely  cut,  like  the  clothes  of  a  Puritan, 
but  for  its  fine  lace  collar  and  elaborately  carved 
buttons  of  scarlet  ivory. 

He  had,  as  he  felt,  failed  in  life,  because  he  had 
failed  in  love  ;  a  point  of  view  common  among 
women,  in  a  man  a  confession  of  self-praise,  selfish- 

23 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

ness,  almost  of  vanity.  He  had  allowed  his  passion 
to  keep  him  from  action  ;  by  which,  alone,  growth 
or  worth  can  be  determined.  He,  as  a  lover,  having, 
as  he  thought,  created  a  life  for  himself,  more 
beautiful,  because  intenser,  than  the  lives  of  others, 
even  of  artists,  had  lived  retired,  judging,  as  all 
retired  men  will,  all  actions,  all  life,  all  things,  by 
an  arbitrary  standard,  his  own  standard,  the  value 
of  which  he  was  incapable  of  judging.  He  had 
been  certain,  led  away,  as  he  had  been,  by  wild 
love,  that  his  way  was  the  way  of  self-perfection, 
to  which  all  ways  assisted,  rightly  used.  In  so  far 
as  his  passion  had  fitted  him  for  the  affairs  of  the 
world,  by  adding  graces,  or  accomplishments  to  a 
nature  rich  already,  he  had  profited.  He  had 
studied  arts,  some  half  a  dozen  different  kinds,  so 
that  his  mind  might  have  the  more  facets  to 
twinkle  agreeably  for  his  mistress's  pleasure.  But 
with  the  confidence  of  various  skill  had  come,  also, 
intellectual  pride ;  for  to  the  man  who  knew  a  little 
of  many  things,  many  things  seemed  little,  since 
none,  save  a  hopeless  passion,  seemed  great.  With 
this  had  come  a  shrinking  from  the  world,  a  toler- 
ance of  it  that  was  half  contempt,  a  distrust  of  it 
that  was  half  sorrow  for  it.  He  lived  away  from 
the  world,  in  a  fanciful  chamber,  where  the  kings 
of  his  imagination  offered  precious  balms  for  ever 
to  the  aloof  lady,  queen  and  saint.  It  was  his 
fancy,  in  the  latter  years  of  his  passion,  to  sublime 
all  human  experience,  to  reduce  all  action  to 
intellectual  essence,  as  an  offering  to  her.  This 
had  begun  from  a  desire  to  amuse  her  in  conver- 
sation. Later,  as  his  aloofness  from  the  world 
drove  him  still  more  upon  his  folly,  he  had  one  day 

24 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

trembled  lest  she  should  ask  him  something  that 
he  did  not  know,  or  could  not  resolve.  It  had 
given  to  him  a  new  interest  in  the  world  ;  but  a 
fantastic  interest ;  he  saw  it  only  for  her,  to  some 
extent  through  her.  He  searched  the  measure  of 
his  friends*  experience,  trying  to  find,  as  he  had 
tried  that  morning  with  Captain  Cammock,  some 
purpose  or  delight,  some  glory  or  dignity  in  the 
various  tale,  which  might,  in  his  own  hands,  be- 
come beauteous  to  her,  and  to  himself  sweet,  being, 
as  he  never  doubted  it  would  prove,  less  glorious, 
less  grand,  than  his  daily  experience  of  high 
emotion. 

Now  that  the  two  friends  were  together  in  the 
cabin,  there  was  a  silence.  Throughout  the  meal 
Margaret  had  kept  the  old  pirate  talking,  in  order 
to  divert  Perrin  from  the  protests  which  he  knew 
would  come.  Now  that  they  were  alone,  the  pro- 
tests were  long  in  coming.  Perrin  fidgeted  between 
the  table  and  the  book-case,  biting  his  thumbs, 
evidently  waiting  for  his  friend  to  speak.  At  last, 
feeling  that  he  could  wait  no  longer,  and  speaking 
crudely  because  he  spoke  from  his  own  initiative, 
he  began — 

'  Look  here,  Charles,  you  ought  not  to  go  ashore 
to-day.* 

'  Why  not  ?  '  said  his  friend.  '  It's  the  end  of 
everything.' 

'  Her  marriage  was  the  end  of  everything,'  said 
Perrin.  '  Look  here,  man,  you're  coming  this  cruise 
to  get  rid  of  your  sorrow.  Don't  go  ashore  and 
begin  it  all  over  again.  You'll  only  upset  yourself, 
and  very  likely  give  her  pain.' 

'  You  don't  understand,  Edward,'  said  Margaret. 

25 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  She  has  been  my  whole  life  for  four  years.  If 
I  could.  I  don*t  know.  If  I  could,  it  might  be 
wiser  to  go  away  without  a  word.  Ah  no,  no. 
I  can't.  You  can't  cut  off  a  part  of  your  life  like 
that.     I  must  go.' 

'  Well,  then,'  said  Perrin,  '  I  insist  on  coming 
with  you.  You'll  just  see  her,  and  come  away. 
I'm  weak,  I  know,  and  all  that ;  but  I  will  save  you 
from  making  ducks  and  drakes  of  your  life.  If 
you  see  her,  you'll  see  her  with  me.  But  I  think 
you're  very  unwise,  Charles.  If  you  weren't  owner, 
I'd  clap  you  in  irons  and  put  to  sea.  I  know  one 
thing.  If  you  see  her,  no  good'll  come  of  it.  Look 
here,  man  ;  do  drop  her,  and  let's  get  away  while 
the  wind  holds.' 

'  No.  I  must  see  her,'  said  Margaret  stubbornly. 
*And  I  couldn't  have  you  with  me.  That's  im- 
possible.' 

'  Why  impossible  ? ' 

'Because.  Well,  we  won't  talk  of  that.  My 
mind  is  made  up.  By  the  way,  Edward,  you  were 
up  very  early,  weren't  you  .'' ' 

'  I  couldn't  sleep.  I  wanted  to  see  the  sunrise. 
I've  heard  so  much  about  sunrise  at  sea.  And  I 
got  into  talk  with  the  captain.  I  told  him  a  little 
about  our  plans.     I  hope  you  don't  mind.' 

*  No.  I'm  glad.  We  shall  have  to  go  into  that 
to-night.  By  the  way,  Edward,  I  want  you,  after 
this,  to  stand  two  watches  a  day.  I  shall  do  the 
same.  We  must  learn  what  stuff  our  men  are  made 
of  before  we  reach  Virginia  ;  for  in  Virginia  we 
shall  have  to  weed  out  our  crew.  We  can  have 
no  skulkers  where  we  are  going.' 

'  All  right,  Charles.    I'm  going  on  deck  now.     I 

26 


The  ''BROKEN  HEART'' 

think  you're  very  foolish.  Your  going  to  see  her 
will  do  no  good.  So  1  tell  you.  Remember  me 
to  her.'  He  picked  up  his  hat,  and  walked  out  of 
the  cabin  to  the  deck. 

Captain  Margaret  rose  from  his  chair,  glanced 
through  the  stern-port  at  the  harbour,  and  sighed 
a  little. 

*  Well,*  he  said  abruptly,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
'  what  must  be,  must  be.  Perhaps  they'll  be  out 
when  I  get  there.  Perhaps  she'll  refuse  to  see 
me.' 

His  mind,  which  now  made  none  save  romantic 
images,  imaged  for  him  the  Broken  Heart  at  sea, 
under  her  colours,  going  over  the  water,  her  owner 
looking  astern  at  land  he  would  never  again  tread. 
It  imaged  for  him  a  garden  ashore,  full  of  roses 
and  tall  white  campanulas.  A  lady  walked  there, 
looking  seaward,  regretting  that  she  had  not  seen 
him,  that  she  had  not  bidden  him  good-bye.  Oh, 
very  sweet,  very  tender,  were  the  images  which 
rosie  up  in  him,  for  the  ten  thousandth  time,  as 
he  stared  out  over  Salcombe  harbour.  And  each 
image,  each  romantic  symbol  imagined  or  created, 
was  a  heavy  nail,  a  heavy  copper  bolt,  nailing  him 
within  the  coffin  of  his  past,  among  the  skeletons 
of  starved  hopes  and  strangled  passions. 


27 


II 

A  FAREWELL 

*  Farewell,  thou  art  too  dear  for  my  possessing.' 

Sonnet  Ixxxviu 

*  Here  take  my  picture  ;  though  I  bid  farewell, 
Thine,  in  my  heart,  where  my  soul  dwells,  shall  dwell.' 

John  Donne. 

TN  a  little  room  ashore,  in  a  private  suite  of  a  big 
-■"  inn  near  the  church,  Tom  Stukeley  sat  alone  at 
breakfast,  staring  down  the  garden,  across  the  sea, 
to  the  moored  ships.  He  was  a  tall,  powerful, 
well-made  man,  of  a  physical  type  more  common 
in  Ireland  than  in  England,  but  not  rare  here.  He 
was,  above  all  things,  a  creature  of  the  body.  One 
had  but  to  look  at  him  to  realize  that  when  he  died 
there  would  be  little  for  Rhadamanthus.  One 
could  not  like  the  man  ;  for  though  his  body  had 
a  kind  of  large  splendour,  it  was  the  splendour  of 
the  prize  cabbage,  of  the  prize  pig,  a  splendour 
really  horrible.  It  is  horrible  to  see  any  large 
thing  without  intelligence.  The  sight  is  an  acqui- 
escence in  an  oifence  against  nature.  Tom  Stukeley 
was  designed  by  nature  for  the  position  of  publican. 
He  had  the  vulgarity  and  the  insolence  of  a  choice 
English  bagman,  in  the  liquor  line,  together  with 

28 


A  FAREWELL 

this  handsome  body,  red  face,  and  thick  black  hair. 
By  the  accident  of  birth  he  was  a  gentleman.  In 
seeing  him  one  realized  the  tragedy  of  life's 
apportionments.  One  realized  that  to  build  up  this, 
this  mass  of  mucous  membrane,  boorishly  informed, 
lit  only  by  the  marsh-lights  of  indulged  sense,  the 
many  toiled  in  poverty,  in  enforced  though  hated 
ignorance,  in  life  without  ease,  without  joy. 

His  coarsely  coloured  face  passed  for  beauty,  his 
insolence  for  strength  of  character,  even  for  wit, 
among  those  men  and  women  with  whom  he  con- 
sorted. His  outward  manner  had  something  of  the 
off-handed  ease  of  the  inferior  actor,  who  drinks, 
and  tells  tales,  and  remarks  upon  the  passing 
women.  But  he  had  little  of  the  actor's  good 
humour.  He  had,  instead,  that  air  of  insolent 
superiority  which  makes  the  inferior  soul,  arrogant 
always,  like  the  dunghill  cock,  clamorous  of  the 
glory  of  dung.  In  company  he  was  rude  to  all 
whom  he  did  not  fear.  He  was  more  rude  to 
women  than  to  men,  partly  because  he  feared  them 
less  ;  but  partly  because  his  physical  tastes  were 
gross,  so  that  he  found  pleasure  in  all  horse-play — 
such  as  the  snatching  of  handkerchiefs  or  trinkets, 
or  even  of  kisses — in  gaining  which  he  had  to 
touch  or  maul  his  victims,  whether  protesting  or 
acquiescent.  Women  were  attracted  by  him,  per- 
haps because  he  frightened  them  pnysically.  His 
love  affairs  were  not  unlike  the  love  affairs  of 
python  and  gazelle.  *  They  like  it,*  he  would  say. 
*They  like  it.  And  if  they're  ugly  (or  chaste, 
which  comes  to  the  same  thing)  they  have  the 
satisfaction  of  learning  about  men.  And  that's 
very  good  for  them.' 

29 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

To  men  whom  he  did  not  fear,  to  those  of  them, 
that  is,  who  had  no  advantage  of  fortune  or  position 
from  which  he  could  hope  to  profit,  he  acted  with 
studied  rudeness,  with  the  unintellectual  unvaried 
rudeness  of  a  school  bully,  particularly  if  they  dis- 
played any  little  sally  of  wit,  any  fondness  for  art, 
any  fineness  of  intelligence  beyond  him.  It  is 
possible  to  think  of  him  with  pity,  as  of  one  born 
out  of  his  due  time  and  out  of  his  right  circle. 
He  was  a  cad,  born  a  gentleman. 

He  sat  alone  at  breakfast,  with  the  breakfast 
dishes  pushed  far  away  from  him  ;  for  he  had 
risen  late,  and  had  sat  late  at  wine  the  night  before. 
The  thought  of  food  was  nauseous  to  him ;  he 
drank  small  beer  thirstily  ;  and  damned  his  wife 
under  his  breath  for  being  risen  from  table,  as  he 
would,  perhaps,  have  damned  her  aloud  had  she  been 
present.  He  had  been  married  for  some  three  months 
and  had  begun  to  find  the  simulation  of  virtue 
tedious.  His  head  ached  ;  and  he  was  very  angry 
with  his  wife.  He  had  married  her  for  her  money, 
and  he  now  found  that  the  money  was  so  tied  that 
her  husband  had  no  power  over  it  ;  but  that  the 
trustees  of  her  father's  estate,  who  viewed  him 
with  no  favour,  had  powers  which  he  had  not  sus- 
pected.   Much  as  he  had  ever  hated  the  law,  he  had 

never He  rose  up  from  his  seat  with  an  oath, 

believing  for  a  wild  moment  that  the  marriage 
might  be  set  aside.  She  had  misled  him  ;  she  must 
have  known  that  all  he  wanted  was  her  money. 
The  marriage  had  been  a  secret  one.  But  that 
belief  only  lasted  for  a  moment  ;  he  was  ^  married 
and  done  for,'  and  here  was  the  lawyer's  letter 
refusing    supplies.       He   had    run    through    their 

30 


A  FAREWELL 

ready  money  at  cards  the  night  before.  All  that 
remained  to  him  was  a  handful  of  small  change, 
and  a  handful  of  tradesmen's  bills.  All  through 
breakfast  the  bills  had  been  arriving,  for  the  word 
had  spread  abroad  that  the  Stukeleys  were  leaving 
Salcombe  at  the  end  of  their  third  week's  stay. 
He  had  been  in  awkward  corners  before ;  but 
never  in  the  country,  and  never  before  had  he  been 
involved  with  a  wife.  He  could  not  think  what  to 
do,  for  his  head  ached  furiously.  He  had  made  too 
free  with  the  common  purse  in  the  certainty  of 
receiving  money  that  morning.  ^  Your  obedient 
servants,'  ran  the  letter.  He  stamped  up  and  down 
the  room,  swearing  and  biting  his  nails.  He  could 
not  return  to  London  without  money  ;  nor  did  he 
dare  to  return  ;  for  he  had  many  debts,  and  feared 
arrest.  He  wondered  whether  Olivia  had  any 
friends  in  those  parts  from  whom  he  or  she  might 
borrow  money.  'It's  time  Olivia  got  broken  in,'  he 
thought. 

A  servant  entered  with  a  letter.  He  took  it 
from  her,  staring  at  her  with  the  hard  insolence  of 
his  class.  The  girl  dropped  her  eyes,  looked  con- 
fused, and  then  smiled  at  him. 

'  Aha,'  he  said  lightly.  He  caught  her  hand  and 
pressed  it,  still  looking  into  her  eyes. 

*  No,'  said  the  girl  hurriedly.  *  There's  some  one 
coming.'  ♦ 

*  You're  my  little  duckling,  aren't  you  ? '  he  said 
softly,  catching  her  round  the  waist. 

'  Be  quiet,'  she  answered,  frightened.  '  I'm  sure  I 
hear  some  one  coming.' 

He  listened  for  a  second,  maintaining  his  hold. 
*  Nonsense,'  he  said.     'Nonsense,  Amy.'  ^ 

31 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*■  My  name's  Jessie,'  she  said  pertly. 

His  hand  roved  about  her  throat,  caressing  her. 
He  bent  and  kissed  her  lips  ;  the  girl  made  some 
show  of  virtue  by  calling  him  a  bad  man. 

'  Where  do  you  sleep,  Jessie  } '  he  murmured. 
*  Which  is  your  room  } ' 

'  Oh  law,'  said  Jessie,  breaking  from  him  hastily, 

^  There's  some  one '  She  seized  two  plates  upon 

the  table,  and  made  a  bustling  pretence  at  clearing 
away.  On  learning  that  it  was  a  false  alarm,  she 
looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  slinking  grace. 

'  You've  made  my  hair  untidy,'  she  said  reproach- 
fully. 

He  walked  up  to  her,  laughing.  She  backed 
from  him  with  a  grin. 

'  Jess-ie,'  came  a  cry  from  without. 

*  It's  missus,'  she  said,  terrified,  going  to  the  door. 
'Yes,  mum.' 

*  The  man  wants  an  answer  for  that  letter  he 
brought.' 

'  Yes,  mum,'  she  cried.  '  In  a  minute,  mum. 
There's  an  answer,  sir.     What's  the  answer,  sir  } ' 

Stukeley  tore  the  paper  open.     A  bill  fell  out. 

'  Oh  damn,'  he  exclaimed.  '  Tell  him  I'll  look 
in  in  the  morning.' 

Jessie  carried  the  message  to  the  bearer  ;  and 
returned  with  another. 

*  Please,  sir,  the  man  says  he  won't  go  unless 
he  has  his  money,  sir.' 

'Won't  he?'  said  Stukeley  angrily.  'I'll  see 
whether  he  won't.' 

He  picked  up  his  cane  and  walked  out  swiftly. 
The  servant  listened  at  the  door  for  the  details  of 
the  quarrel. 

32 


A  FAREWELL 

*  Hark-ee/  came  Stukeley*s  voice.  '  Here's  your 
bill.  D'ye  sec  it }  There  !  * — there  came  a  sound 
of  tearing  paper — '  Now  take  that  back  to  your 
master.  Next  time  you  disturb  me  at  breakfast 
I'll  break  your  head.     Get  out  of  this.' 

The  haberdasher's  clerk  withdrew.  The  land- 
lady aided  his  retreat  with  a  few  words  about  not 
having  her  guests  disturbed. 

Stukeley  returned  to  his  breakfast-room.  Jessie 
looked  at  him  admiringly. 

^Aha,  Jessie,'  he  said.  'What  nice  arms  you've 
got.  Eh  }  Haven't  you }  Eh  }  I  wish  I  was 
in  them.  Beautiful  arms.'  He  pinched  them, 
following  her  about  as  she  backed  to  avoid  him. 

'  You've  got  a  wife,'  said  Jessie.  *  What  do  you 
want  with  arms  }  Don't !  Don't !  You'll  make  me 
scream  out.' 

Again  came  the  voice  of  the  mistress. 

*  Jessie  !  Jessie  !     Drat  the  girl.' 

The  amorous  by-play  ceased  ;  Jessie  went  swiftly. 

She  soon  returned,  bri^nging  a  visitor,  a  coarse  fair- 
haired  man,  with  a  face  not  unlike  a  horse's  face,  but 
without  the  beauty.  His  cheeks  were  rather  puffy  ; 
his  eyelids  drooped  down  over  his  eyes,  so  that  he 
gave  one  the  impression  of  extreme  short  sight,  or 
of  some  eye-disease.  He  peered  out  under  his 
eyelids.  One  felt  that  the  house  so  lit  was  a  dark, 
narrow,  mean  little  thieves'  house. 

'  Mr.  Haly  to  see  you,  sir,'  said  Jessie. 

Mr.  Haly  entered,  to  find  his  friend  Stukeley 
retiring  through  the  other  door.  He  turned  back 
in  the  doorway  on  hearing  the  name. 

'Oh,  it's  you,  Monty,'  he  said.  'What  brings 
you  to  Salcombe  } ' 

D  33 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  You  took  me  for  a  dun/  said  Mr.  Haly,  with  a 
jocular  whine  peculiar  to  him.  '  You  took  me  for  a 
dun.  I'll  sit  down,  if  this  pretty  charmer  here  ' — 
he  ogled  Jenny,  with  a  look  which  would  have 
made  a  wanton  chaste — '  will  give  me  a  chair. 
Thank  you,  my  dear.'  He  sat  down  ;  Jessie  left 
the  room. 

*  I've  come  down  with  young  Killigrew,'  he  said. 
^  He  offered  to  pay  my  exes.  So  I  thought  I'd  look 
you  up,  to  see  how  married  bliss  looks.  Hey, 
Tom  1  How's  the  wife  }  Hey,  Tom  }  How's 
Cupid's  dove  1  Hey  }  I  suppose  she's  making  little 
clothes  already  }     Hey  .f^ ' 

He  laughed  pursily  ;  helped  himself,  unbidden, 
to  the  beer,  cut  himself  a  snack  from  his  friend's 
untasted  breakfast,  buttered  it  thickly,  and  began  to 
eat.  His  friendships  were  selfish  always.  *  Give 
nothing,  but  take  all  you  can  get,'  would  have  been 
his  motto,  had  he  had  sufficient  intellect  to  think  it 
out.  It  had  helped  him  in  the  world  ;  but  his 
greed,  never  sated,  had  perhaps  helped  him  less 
than  his  power  of  flattering  those  who  were  richer, 
but  no  more  intelligent  than  himself.  Stukeley 
ignored  his  friend's  questions,  not  because  he  ob- 
jected to  them,  but  because  he  expected  some- 
thing more  from  Mr.  Haly. 

'There  was  another  reason  why  I  called,'  said 
Haly  after  a  pause.  '  I  travelled  down  from  town 
with  old  Bent,  your  landlord  that  was.' 

'  With  old  Bent } '  said  Stukeley,  becoming  more 
attentive. 

'  Yes,'  continued  Haly.  *  He'd  heard  you  were 
In  Salcombe.     I  believe  he  wants  to  see  you.' 

'  Damn  it.     He  does,'  said  Stukeley. 

34 


A  FAREWELL 

*  Well,'  said  Haly,  *  then  I  hope  it's  not  a  large 
sum.  But  still,  now  youVe  married  to  an  heiress, 
you  lucky  dog,  why,  you  can  laugh  at  old  Bent,  I 
should  think/ 

'  Yes,'  said  Stukeley  quietly.  ^  What  time  is  old 
Bent  coming  here  } ' 

Haly  shrugged  his  shoulders.  *  We're  not  in 
town  now,'  he  said.     *  He  might  come  any  time.' 

Stukeley  offered  his  friend  some  more  beer. 

*  By  the  way,  Tom,'  said  Haly,  '  I  don't  want 
to  rob  you,  but  could  you  lend  me  a  fiver,  just  to 
go  on  with  ? ' 

*  I'm  sorry,  Monty,'  said  his  friend  ;  *  I  never 
lend  money.' 

'Oh,  come,  Tom,'  said  Haly.  *  Don't  be  a  swine, 
man.  I'd  lend  it  to  you  fast  enough.  I'd  not  see  a 
friend  in  want.' 

'  I  know  you  wouldn't,'  said  Tom.  '  But  I  never 
lend  money.' 

'  Damn  it,'  said  Haly,  lowering  his  voice  to  a 
whining  reproachful  tone.  '  Well,  I  wouldn't  be 
a  mean  swine.  Lord,  man  !  I  gave  you  the  office 
about  Bent.  You  might  have  a  little  gratitude. 
What's  a  fiver  to  you  }  Don't  be  a  swine,  man.  I 
wouldn't  refuse  you,  I  know.' 

Stukeley  stared  insolently  at  Haly's  blinking 
eyes.  He  seemed  to  relish  the  man's  disap- 
pointment. 

'  No  !  Can't  be  done,  Monty,'  he  said.  '  Have 
some  more  buttered  toast,  instead — with  sugar 
on  it.' 

Haly  had  already  eaten  plentcously  of  this  dainty ; 
he  was  not  to  be  comforted  with  flagons. 

'  You  are  a  swine,'  he  said  angrily.     '  Now  you're 

35 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

married,  I  suppose  you're  going  back  on  your  pals. 
You  dirty  swine.  My  God  !  I  wouldn't  be  mean 
like  that.  Well,  keep  your  fiver.  But  old  Bent 
shall  hear  something.  Yes,  and  my  new  wife  shall 
hear  something.     My  wife  Olivia,  Olivia.' 

Stukeley  watched  his  friend  with  careless  toler- 
ance, ringing  the  bell  meanwhile,  with  a  hand 
stretched  idly  behind  him.  He  laughed  lightly, 
bidding  Haly  to  be  of  good  cheer.  When  Jessie 
came,  in  answer  to  the  bell,  he  bade  his  friend  good 
morning,  and  bowed  him  out.  Haly  disappeared, 
cursing. 

When  he  had  gone,  Stukeley  wondered  if  he  had 
done  wisely  in  choking  off  Haly  so  soon.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind,  during  the  months  of  his  honey- 
moon, to  break  with  his  old  circle  ;  for  his  wife's 
friends  were  rich  and  powerful,  and  his  own  friends, 
being  men  about  town,  had  never  been  more  to 
him  than  flash  companions.  Besides,  he  realized 
that  a  man  like  Haly  was  hardly  likely  to  bring 
him  credit  with  his  new  acquaintances.  And 
anyhow  his  headache  made  him  devilish,  and  he 
had  had  pleasure  in  seeing  the  horse-face  flush, 
and  the  little  mean  eyes  blink  with  anger.  He  did 
not  set  much  store  by  the  man's  threats.  If  old 
Bent  had  come  to  Salcombe  after  him,  he  would 
see  his  victim,  whether  Haly  helped  or  refused  to 
help.  He  did  not  rightly  know  what  he  could  say 
to  old  Bent,  and  his  head  was  throbbing  and  in 
pain  ;  he  could  not  think.  Jessie  returned  to  clear 
away  ;  but  even  Jessie  would  not  comfort  him,  for 
missus  was  in  the  next  room  and  could  hear  every 
word. 

'  Perhaps  after  dinner,'  said  Jessie. 

36 


A  FAREIVELL 

Something  in  the  girl's  coyness  stirred  his  lust. 
He  caught  hold  of  her,  shutting  the  door  with  his 
disengaged  hand.  His  back  was  against  the  door, 
and  the  girl  was  pressed  to  him. 

'  You  are  a  naughty  man,'  said  Jessie  reprovingly. 

He  drew  her  head  back  and  kissed  her  lips  and 
throat.  Something  in  the  girl  amused  him  and 
excited  him.  He  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  anger 
against  Olivia.  She  needed  some  devil  of  wanton- 
ness, he  thought.  She  never  moved  him  as  this 
tavern  trollop  moved  him. 

*  Do  you  love  me  } '  said  Jessie. 

*  Yes,'  he  said  passionately. 

*  I  seen  you  look  at  me,'  said  Jessie. 

It  had  been  love  at  first  sight.  While  they 
kissed,  Olivia's  voice  sounded  clearly  in  the  passage. 
'  I'll  see  him  in  the  breakfast-room,  with  Mr. 
Stukeley.' 

'  Oh  law  ! '  said  Jessie,  wrenching  herself  free. 
*Go  inside,  Mr.  Stukeley.  Don't  let's  be  seen 
together.' 

*  Bent  already,'  said  Stukeley,  slipping  into  the 
inner  room. 

He  went  so  quickly  that  Jessie's  question,  '  Is 
my  hair  tidy  } '  was  unanswered.  As  Jessie  dabbed 
at  her  hair  before  the  mirror,  Olivia  entered.  She 
thought  that  Jessie's  heightened  colour  and  nervous 
manner  were  signs  that  she  was  ashamed  of  being 
caught  at  a  glass.  She  smiled  at  the  girl,  who  smiled 
back  at  her  as  she  hurried  to  remove  her  tray.  Had 
Olivia  looked  at  Jessie  as  she  left  the  room  with  the 
tablecloth,  the  trollop's  gaze  of  confident  contempt 
would  have  puzzled  her  ;  she  might,  perhaps,  have 
found  it  disquieting. 

37 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

She  had  only  been  married  a  few  weeks  ;  and 
she  loved  her  husband  so  dearly  that  to  speak  of 
him  to  any  one,  to  an  inn-servant,  for  example, 
seemed  sacrilegious  to  her.  She  felt  this  very 
strongly  at  this  moment,  though  she  longed  to  ask 
Jessie  where  her  husband  might  be  found.  She 
felt  some  slight  displeasure  at  her  husband's  absence, 
for  he  had  never  before  left  her  for  so  long.  This 
breakfast  had  been  the  first  meal  eaten  apart  since 
the  day  of  their  marriage.  When  Jessie  had  left 
the  room,  she  looked  at  her  image  in  the  mirror, 
straightening  the  laces  at  her  throat  and  smoothing 
the  heavy  hair,  one  of  her  chief  beauties.  She 
loved  her  husband.  All  other  men  were  mere 
creatures  to  her — creatures  with  no  splendour  of 
circling  memory,  creatures  of  dust.  But  the 
announcement  that  Captain  Margaret  was  even 
then  without,  waiting  to  be  admitted,  was  some- 
how affecting.  She  felt  touched,  perhaps  a  little 
piqued.  He  had  loved  her,  still  loved  her,  she 
felt.  She  had  never  much  cared  for  him,  though 
she  had  found  a  sort  of  dreadful  pleasure  in  the 
contemplation  of  her  power  over  him.  At  the 
moment,  she  felt  a  little  pity  for  him,  and  then  a 
little  pity  for  herself  Now  that  she  was  married, 
she  thought,  she  would  be  unattractive  to  him  ;  her 
power  would  be  gone  ;  and  as  that  was  the  first 
time  the  thought  had  come  to  her,  it  made  her 
almost  sad,  as  though  she  were  parting  with  a 
beautiful  memory,  with  a  part  of  her  youth,  with  a 
part  of  her  youthful  beauty.  Her  look  into  the  glass 
was  anxious.  She  was  eager  to  look  her  best,  to  make 
the  most  of  her  pale  beauty  ;  for  (like  less  intelli- 
gent women)  she  believed  that  it  was  her  beauty 

38 


A  FAREWELL 

which  most  appealed  to  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
it  was  the  refinement  of  her  voice  which  swayed 
him,  her  low  voice,  full  of  music,  full  of  intensity, 
of  which  each  note  told  of  an  inner  grace,  of  some 
beauty  of  mind  unattainable  by  men,  but  some- 
times worshipped  by  them.  She  was  not  a  clever 
talker.  Her  power  lay  in  sympathy,  in  creating 
talk  in  others,  for  when  she  was  of  a  company  it 
was  as  though  music  were  being  played  ;  the  talk 
showed  fine  feeling  ;  at  least,  the  talkers  went  away 
delighted.  She  had  a  little  beauty.  Her  eyes  were 
beautiful  ;  her  hair  was  beautiful  ;  but  beautiful 
beyond  all  physical  beauty  was  the  beauty  of  her 
earnest  voice,  so  unspeakably  refined  and  pure, 
coming  holy  from  the  inner  shrine. 

She  had  not  waited  a  minute,  before  Captain 
Margaret  entered.  She  had  expected  to  see  him 
troubled,  and  to  hear  the  ring  of  emotion  in  his 
voice  as  he  greeted  her.  She  had  half  expected  to 
be  surprised  by  some  rush  of  frantic  passion.  But 
he  entered  smiling,  greeting  her  with  a  laugh.  She 
felt  at  once,  from  his  manner,  from  his  obvious 
dislike  for  her  hand,  which  he  scarcely  touched  and 
then  dropped,  an  implied  shrinking  from  her  hus- 
band. It  gave  her  firmness.  He  looked  at  her 
eyes  a  moment,  wondering  with  what  love  they  had 
looked  at  Stukeley  during  the  night-watches.  The 
thought  came  to  him  that  she  was  a  beautiful  soiled 
thing,  to  be  pitied  and  tenderly  reproved.  The 
image  of  Stukeley  cast  too  dark  a  shadow  for  any 
brighter  thought  of  her.  When  she  began  to  speak 
she  had  him  bound  and  helpless. 

*  Well,  Olivia,'  he  said  gaily,  '  I'm  glad  I  came  in 
time  to  catch  you.' 

39 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  Yes/  she  answered,  'we  were  just  going.     We 

have  been And  how  did  you  come  here  ?  * 

She  found  it  harder  to  talk  to  him  than  she  had 
expected. 

'  I  came  here  in  my  ship/  he  answered.  '  I 
wanted  to  see  you,  to  wish  you,  to  hope — to  wish 
you  all  happiness.     Before  I  leave  England.* 

She  smiled. 

'Thank  you  very  much,'  she  said.  'Are  you 
leaving  England  for  long  } ' 

'  It  may  be  a  long  time.  If  all  goes  well,  it  will 
be  a  very  long  time.' 

'  I  had  not  heard  that  you  were  going  abroad. 
To  what  part  are  you  going  1     Italy  again  } ' 

'  No.  I'm  going  to  Darien.'  It  seemed  to  him 
to  be  almost  tragical  that  she  really  did  not  know 
where  Darien  lay.     '  The  Spanish  Main,'  he  added. 

'  Ah,  yes,'  she  said. 

He  covered  her  retreat  by  saying  that  he  was 
going  to  Virginia  first.  She  looked  at  him  with 
quickened  interest. 

'  Going  in  your  ship,'  she  said.  '  That  sounds 
very  grand.  Is  she  in  Salcombe  here  ?  Which  is 
she  among  all  those  schooners  ? ' 

'  That  one,'  he  answered,  pointing  through  the 
window.     '  The  ship  with  the  flag.' 

*  And  you're  leaving  England  at  once  } ' 
'  Yes.     This  afternoon's  tide.' 

'  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  get 
there  } ' 

'Oh,  don't  let's  talk  about  that,'  he  answered. 
'  Tell  me  about  yourself,  and  your  plans.  What 
are  you  going  to  do,  now  you're  leaving  Salcombe  } 
Will  you  go  home  to  Flaxley  } ' 

40 


A  FAREWELL 

^  No,'  she  answered,  colouring  slightly.  '  Uncle 
Nestor  was  rather  rude  to  Tom,  to  my  hus- 
band.' 

The  captain  bit  his  lip,  and  gazed  out  absently 
over  the  sea.  He  had  heard  why  Uncle  Nestor 
had  been  rude.  The  knowledge  made  him  doubt- 
ful of  Olivia's  future  happiness. 

'  So  I  suppose  you'll  go  back  to  town,*  he 
answered,  *and  settle  down.  What  do  married 
people  do,  when  they  settle  down  } ' 

*  Oh,'  she  said,  '  I've  great  schemes  for  Tom. 
He's  going  to  stand  for  Parliament.  But  I  want  to 
know  what  you're  going  to  do  in  Darien.  What  is 
your  scheme  } ' 

'Just  to  help  the  Indians,'  he  answered.  'The 
Spaniards  have  robbed  them  and  ill-treated  them, 
and  I  thought  that  if  some  Englishmen  settled  on 
the  Isthmus,  and  opened  up  a  trade  with  them. 
For  you  see,  we  could  trade  with  both  Jamaica  and 
Virginia.  And  if  we  opened  up  a  trade  there,  we 
could  check  the  Spanish  power  there,  making  the 
Indians  our  allies.' 

'  And  what  would  you  trade  for,  or  with  ?  It 
sounds  very  romantic' 

'  The  country  is  very  rich  in  gold.  Gold  is 
found  in  all  the  rivers.  But  of  course  the  gold  is 
not  to  be  our  aim.  I  want,  really,  to  found  an 
English  colony  ;  or  a  colony  of  workers,  at  any 
rate.  The  Spanish  colony  is  just  a  press,  which 
squeezes  the  land.  Now  the  land  ought,  in  a  sense, 
to  squeeze  the  colonists.  It  ought  to  bring  out  all 
their  virtues.  That  is  what  I  want.  The  country 
will  have  to  be  cleared.     And  then  we  shall  plant 

cacao,  or  whatever  the  land  Is  fit  for,  and The 

41 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

scheme  is  thought  out,  in  detail.  Vm  confident;  but 
I  won't  talk  about  it.* 

^  And  the  Indians  will  be  your  allies  } '  repeated 
Olivia ;  '  and  the  Spaniards  will  probably  fight  you  V 

'  Yes/  he  answered.  '  And  you  will  be  in  a  town- 
house  in  London,  going  to  the  play,  or  dancing  at 
a  ball,  in  grey  silk.' 

'  Blue,  or  grey.' 

'  And  you  will  give  sprigs  of  verbena  to  those 
who  see  over  your  garden  in  the  country.' 

*  And  when  will  you  come  for  some  } ' 

*  Ah  !  I  shan't  see  that  garden  again,  for  a  long, 
long  time.' 

'  We're  going  to  plant  all  sorts  of  things,  when 
we  get  home.  You  must  send  some  roots  from 
Darien.' 

^  I  should  like  to  do  that.  We  have  been  such 
— such  friends.' 

'  In  the  old  days.' 

*  Yes,'  he  said,  rising.     '  Now  I  must  be  off.' 
'  Oh,  but  you  ought  not  to  go  yet.' 

'  I  only  just  came  ashore  to  see  you.' 

*Oh,  you  must  stay  to  see  my  husband.  He 
wants  to  see  you.  He'll  be  so  disappointed  if  you 
don't  stay  to  see  him.' 

^  You  must  make  my  apologies.  Good-bye, 
Olivia.' 

She  held  out  her  hand  without  emotion  of 
any  kind.  She  would  have  shaken  hands  with 
any  other  acquaintance  with  just  so  little  feeling. 
Margaret  wondered  what  it  was  that  would  get 
within  her  guard.  He  took  her  hand.  He  tried 
hard  to  say  no  more,  but  failed,  being  sorely 
tempted. 


A  FAREWELL 

^  God  bless  you/  he  said.  *  I  hope  you  will  be 
very,  very  happy.  God  bless  you,  dear.  I 
wonder  if  I  shall  hear  of  you  ever.  Or  see 
you  again.' 

^  If  you  want  to,  you  will,'  she  said  simply,  glad 
that  it  had  gone  no  further. 

'  Yes,  I  shall  see  you  again,'  he  said. 

'  Of  course  you  will,'  she  answered,  '  I  hope 
your  colony  will  be  a  success.' 

Something  in  her  voice  made  the  conventional 
words  beautiful.  Captain  Stukeley,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  door,  hearing  that  quality  in  his  wife's 
voice,  wished  that  the  keyhole  were  bigger.  With 
an  effort.  Captain  Margaret  rewarded  that  moving 
tone. 

*  When  I  come  back,'  he  said,  '  I  hope  that  I 
shall  get  to  know  your  husband.  Make  my  apolo- 
gies to  him.' 

'  Good-bye  again,'  she  said. 

Her  voice  seemed  to  come  from  her  whole 
nature.  All  that  her  lover  could  remember  after- 
wards was  the  timbre  of  the  voice  ;  he  had  no 
memory  of  her  face.  Her  eyes  he  remembered, 
and  her  heavy  antique  ear-rings.  *  Eyes,  ear-rings, 
and  a  voice,'  he  repeated,  walking  down  to  the 
jetty.  He  wondered  what  she  was.  *  What  is 
she  }  What  is  she  }  Oh  Lord,  what  is  she  } '  He 
could  not  answer  it.  She  was  beautiful.  Most 
beautiful.  Beautiful  enough  to  drive  him  mad. 
Her  beauty  was  not  a  bodily  accident ;  but  a  quality 
of  soul,  the  quality  of  her  nature,  her  soul  made 
visible.  But  what  was  she  }  She  had  talked  com- 
monly, conventionally.  She  had  said  nowise  thing, 
no  moving  thing.     Never  once  had  she  revealed 

43 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

herself;  she  was  only  kind,  fond  of  flowers,  fond 
of  music,  a  lover  of  little  children.  But  oh,  she 
was  beyond  all  beauty,  that  dark,  graceful  lady  with 
the  antique  ear-rings.  It  was  her  voice.  Any  con- 
ventional, common  word  her  voice  made  beautiful. 
He  wondered  if  she  were,  after  all,  divine  ;  for  if 
she  were  not  divine,  how  came  it  that  her  voice  had 
that  effect,  that  power  }  He  felt  that  human  beings 
were  all  manifestations  of  a  divine  purpose.  Per- 
haps that  lovely  woman  was  an  idea,  an  idea  of 
refinement,  of  delicate,  exquisite,  right  grace, 
clothed  in  fitting  flesh,  walking  the  world  with 
heavenly  intention.  But  if  that  were  so,  how  the 
devil  came  Stukeley  there,  that  was  the  puzzle  1 
The  blood  came  into  that  pale  face  sometimes  ; 
and  oh,  the  way  she  turned,  the  way  she  looked, 
the  way  of  that  voice,  so  thrilling,  so  infinitely 
beautiful.  Ah  well  ;  he  had  played  and  lost,  and 
there  was  his  ship  with  her  flag  flying  ;  he  was 
bound  down  and  away 

Along  the  coast  of  New  Barbary. 

But  he  had  loved  her,  he  had  seen  her,  he  had 
been  filled  with  her  beauty  as  a  cup  with  wine.  He 
would  carry  her  memory  into  the  waste  places  of 
the  world.  Perhaps  in  the  new  Athens,  over  yon- 
der, among  the  magnolia  bloom,  and  the  smell  of 
logwood  blossom,  he  would  make  her  mxemory 
immortal  in  some  poem,  some  tragedy,  something 
to  be  chanted  by  many  voices,  amid  the  burning  of 
precious  gums,  and  the  hush  of  the  theatre.  On 
the  way,  he  stopped,  thinking  of  her  personal  tastes. 
He,  too,  would  have  those  tastes.  Little  things 
for  which  she  cared  should  come  with  him  to  the 

44 


A  FAREWELL 

Main.  He  gave  the  merchant  the  impression  that 
he  was  dealing  with  one  melancholy  mad. 

Drums  sounded  in  the  street,  for  troops  were 
marching  west,  to  a  rousing  quick-step.  They 
marched  well,  with  their  heads  held  firm  in  their 
stocks.  The  sergeants  strutted  by  them,  handling 
their  halberds.  Captain  Margaret  paused  to  watch 
them,  just  as  a  sailor  will  stop  to  watch  a  ship. 
*  They  are  like  the  world,'  he  thought.  '  The 
men  drop  out,  but  the  regiment  remains.  It  still 
follows  the  rags  on  the  broomstick,  and  a  fool  com- 
mands it,  and  a  halberd  drills  it,  and  women  and 
children  think  it  a  marvellous  fine  thing.  Well, 
so  be  it.  Fve  bought  my  discharge.'  The  fifes 
and  drums  passed  out  of  hearing.  *  They'll  never 
come  back,'  he  said  to  himself.  '  Perhaps  twenty 
years  hence  I  shall  meet  one  of  those  men,  and  be 
friends  with  him.  Why  not  now }  And  why 
should  I  see  that  regiment  now  }  What  does  it 
mean  }  It  is  a  symbol.  All  events  are  symbols. 
What  does  it  mean  }  What  is  it  a  symbol  of? 
Why  should  that  regiment  pass  to-day,  now,  after 
I've  bidden  my  love  good-bye  }  And  what  ought 
I  to  learn  from  it }  What  message  has  it  for  me  ? ' 
He  was  convinced  that  it  had  a  message.  He  stood 
still,  looking  down  the  road,  vacant  as  a  British 
statue. 

He  woke  up  with  a  start,  remembering  that  he 
had  to  buy  some  materials  for  the  practice  of  one  of 
his  amusing  handicrafts.  A  little  gold,  some  silver, 
and  a  few  stones  of  small  value,  together  with  glass 
beads,  were  all  that  he  needed.  He  was  planning 
to  make  jewels  for  the  Indian  princesses.  *  Beads 
is  what  they  goes  for,'  so  Cammock  had  said.     He 

45 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

bought  large  stores  of  beads.  He  also  bought 
materials  for  a  jewel  for  Olivia,  thinking,  as  he 
examined  the  gems,  of  the  letter  he  would  send 
with  the  gift.  '  It  will  be  written  under  palm- 
thatch,'  he  thought,  *  in  the  rains.'  He  was  able  to 
plan  the  jewel  in  all  its  detail.  People  stared  at 
him  with  curiosity.  He  was  speaking  aloud  as  he 
walked.  *  Nothing  matters  very  much  to  me,'  he 
said.  ^  I  know  the  meaning  of  life.  Life  and 
death  are  the  same  to  me.'  So  saying  he  arrived 
upon  the  jetty,  and  hailed  his  boat,  which  lay  at  a 
little  distance,  her  oarsmen  playing  dice  in  the 
stern-sheets.  His  purchases  were  stowed  between 
the  thwarts,  a  few  grocer's  boxes  made  an  obelisk  in 
the  bows.  As  they  shoved  oiF,  there  came  a  flash 
of  fire  from  the  side  of  the  Broken  Heart.  White 
smoke-rings  floated  up  and  away,  over  her  top- 
gallant-masts. Grey  smoke  clung  and  drifted  along 
the  sea.  The  roar  of  the  cannon  made  the  Salcombe 
windows  rattle.  The  boat's  crew  grinned.  Being 
boatmen,  they  had  escaped  the  gun-drill.  They 
knew  what  all  hands  were  getting  from  the  stalwart 
Cammock. 

He  stepped  quickly  up  the  side,  acknowledging 
Cammock's  salute  and  the  pipe  of  the  boatswain. 
Perrin  met  him  at  the  break  of  the  poop.  He 
noticed  that  Perrin  stared  rather  hard  at  him.  He 
grinned  at  Perrin  cheerfully. 

*  Yes,  I  saw  her,'  he  said  gaily. 

It  seemed  to  Perrin  that  his  gaiety  was  natural, 
and  that,  perhaps,  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Stukeley,  with 
her  husband,  had  proved  an  effective  cure.  A 
gun's  crew  swayed  the  gear  out  of  the  boat.  The 
other  guns'  crews,  heaving  the  heavy  trucks,  train- 

46 


A  FAREWELL 

ing  the  guns  forward,  wished  that  they  might  help. 
'Captain  Cammock  resumed  his  drill. 

'  Starboard  battery,  on  the  bow  ! '  he  exclaimed. 
'  Port  battery,  upon  the  beam.  Imagine  them  hulks. 
Them's  the  enemy.  Bring  aft  your  train  tackles. 
No.  No.  Oh,  what  are  you  playing  at }  Drop 
them  blocks.  What  in  hell  are  you  thinking  of 
there,  number  three  }  Vm  not  talking  to  you, 
port  battery.  Now.  Wait  for  the  word  of  com- 
mand. Take  heed.  Silence.  Silence  there.  Now. 
Cast  off  the  tackles  and  breechings.     Carry  on.* 

The  figures  by  the  guns  became  active.  Though 
they  carried  on  '  in  silence,'  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  noise,  many  muttered  oaths,  much  angry  drop- 
ping of  rammers.  Captain  Margaret  stood  by 
Cammock,  waiting  till  the  guns  were  fired.  He 
had  learned  the  practical  part  of  naval  gunnery 
from  a  book  in  Cam  mock's  cabin.  The  Manner's 
Friend^  or  Compleat  Sea  Gunner  s  Vade  Mecum, 
He  watched  the  drill  wearily,  knowing  how  hard 
and  dull  a  thing  it  was  to  the  men  who  swayed 
the  tackles,  and  hove  the  trucks  along  with 
crows.  In  the  moment  of  peace  after  the  broad- 
sides, he  felt  a  pity  for  his  men,  a  pity  for  humanity. 
He  had  hired  these  men  at  four  shillings  a  week 
apiece.  He  gave  them  their  food,  worth,  perhaps, 
tenpencc  a  day,  with  their  rum  worth  twopence 
more,  bought  wholesale,  out  of  bond.  '  For  eleven 
shillings  a  week,'  he  thought,  ^  a  man  will  clog 
his  heavenly  soul  with  gun-drill,  which  his  soul 
loathes  ;  and  refrain  from  drabs  and  drams, 
which  his  soul  hungers  and  thirsts  for.'  He 
felt  ashamed  that  he  had  not  thought  more  of 
his   men's  comfort. 

47 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^YouVe  got  them  into  shape  already,  captain,' 
he  said. 

*  I'll  get  them  into  trim  in  time,*  answered  Cam- 
mock.     '  It  takes  time.' 

^  Yes,'  said  Margaret,  *it  takes  time.'  He  paused 
a  moment,  remembered  his  kindly  feeling,  and 
continued.  '  I  want  to  ask  you  about  fresh  meat, 
captain.  Shall  I  get  some  fresh  meat  here,  to  see 
us  well  into  the  Western  Ocean  }  Or  flour,  now  ? 
I  want  the  hands  kept  in  good  trim.  I  don't  want 
to  lose  any  by  sickness.' 

'  Fresh  meat  is  always  good  at  sea,'  said  Cam- 
mock.  '  But  there's  better  things  than  meat.  For 
keeping  a  crew  in  good  shape,  you  can't  beat  sugar 
and  flour.     It  takes  the  salt  out  of  their  bones.' 

Perrin  had  joined  them.  '  I've  ordered  fresh 
meat  and  sugar,'  he  said.  '  And  three  dozen  fowls. 
They'll  be  off  in  about  an  hour's  time.' 

'  You  oughtn't  to  have  done  that,'  said  Margai  et. 

*•  I  paid  for  them  myself,'  he  answered.  '  There 
they  come.' 

Captain  Cammock  secured  his  guns,  returned 
his  powder,  and  piped  the  boat  to  be  cleared. 
The  hen-coop  was  lashed  down  for  a  full  due  below 
the  break  of  the  poop.  After  the  meat  had  been 
hung  in  the  harness-room,  the  hands  went  forward 
to  loaf  and  stand-by.  The  two  friends  walked  the 
poop  with  Cammock,  ten  paces  and  a  turn,  talking 
of  old  times,  and  of  the  fortune  of  the  sea. 

They  were  waiting  for  the  ebb-tide  to  take  them 
out.  The  wind  was  fair,  but  light  ;  they  needed 
the  ebb.  Waiting  like  that  is  always  a  weariness. 
Captain  Margaret  wished  that  he  had  never  put  in 
to  Salcombe.     He  was  a  fool,   he    thought.     The 

48 


A  FAREWELL 

thing  was  over,  the  wound  was  closed.  He  had 
begun  it  anew  ;  reopened  it.  Now  he  had  to  apply 
the  cautery.  If  he  had  held  his  course,  his  ship 
would  have  been  out  of  sight  of  land,  going  on, 
under  all  sail,  forty  miles  south-west  from  Scilly, 
bringing  him  nearer  to  content  at  each  wave,  each 
bubble.  He  felt  also  the  discontent  of  the  tide- 
bound  sailor.  He  felt  that  he  was  at  liberty  wrong- 
fully ;  that  it  was  wrong  for  him  to  be  there,  doing 
nothing,  merely  because  the  tide  still  flowed. 
Perrin,  though  he  was  eager  to  talk  to  his  friend 
about  the  results  of  the  farewell  call,  was  bored  to 
death  by  the  inaction,  by  the  sudden  stoppage  of 
the  routine.  As  for  Cammock,  he  smoked  his  pipe, 
and  looked  out  to  windward,  wondering  inwardly 
at  the  strangeness  of  gentlemen.  Thinking  that  they 
were  hipped,  he  told  them  his  favourite  tale  of  how 
the  cow  came  at  him  one  time,  when  he  was  hunt- 
ing for  beef  near  One  Bush  Key.  It  was  an  excit- 
ing story  ;  but  nothing,  he  said,  to  what  '  happened 
him '  one  time  when  he  was  loading  live  steers  at 
Negril,  after  the  cattle  pest  at  Antigua. 

*  So  I  got  into  one  of  the  shore-boats,*  he  con- 
cluded. ^  rd  had  enough  of  them  great  horns  a 
yard  long.' 

'  Every  man  to  his  trade,'  said  Perrin  curtly. 

Captain  Margaret  asked  if  the  long-horns  were 
bred  from  imported  stock.  Cammock  had  expected 
them  to  laugh.  The  situation  was  saved  by  the 
entrance  of  a  sixth-rate,  under  all  plain  sail,  on  the 
last  of  the  flood.  Her  blue  sides  were  gay  with 
gold  leaf ;  her  colours  streamed  out  astern  ;  she 
broke  the  water  to  a  sparkle.  In  her  main-chains 
stood  a  leadsman  crying  his  melancholy  cry  of  ^  Anci 
E  ^9 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

a  half,  three,'  which  another  voice  repeated  harshly. 
Though  she  came  quietly  she  came  swiftly  ;  for  the 
flood  had  strength.  She  was  a  lovely  thing,  sway- 
ing in  there  softly.  The  Broken  Heart  saluted  her. 
The  friends  watched  her  as  she  passed.  Cammock 
saw  his  opportunity.    He  turned  to  his  companions. 

'  What  d'ye  make  of  her  ^ '  he  asked  them. 

Perrin  called  her  *  a  man-of-war '  ;  Margaret  '  a 
beautiful  thing.' 

'  I'll  tell  you  what  /make  of  her,'  said  Cammock. 
*  She  was  built  in  France,  that's  easy  seen,  and  she 
was  bought  or  taken  at  least  three  years  back.  She 
was  re-masted  at  Deptford,  and  her  captain  thinks 
the  masting's  spoiled  her.  She's  been  in  the  West 
Indies  within  a  year,  and  there  she'd  a  pile  of  hard 
times.  Lost  her  topmasts  for  one  of  them.  Then 
she  came  home,  and  took  a  big  nob  of  some  sort 
up  the  Mediterranean,  for  political  reasons,  and  in  a 
hurry,  with  a  scratch  crew.  She's  made  a  quick 
passage,  and  the  captain's  cabin  is  taken  up  with 
ladies,  probably  one  big  sort  of  a  duchess  or  that. 
The  Government  is  short  of  funds,  and  the  wind's 
going  to  draw  more  westerly.  Her  lieutenant  is  a 
Devonshire  man.  And  I  bet  I  know  her  captain's 
name  and  what  her  hands  think  of  him.  That's 
what  I  make  of  her.' 

*  How  d'you  know  all  that .? '  said  Perrin. 

'  Every  man  to  his  trade,'  said  Cammock.  He 
felt  that  he  had  retrieved  the  honour  lost  over  the 
cows. 

At  this  moment  four  bells  were  made ;  the 
cabin  steward  rang  them  to  the  cabin  supper. 

They  found  the  table  heaped  with  dainties  ;  for 
Perrin  and  Cammock  had  foraged  ashore  together, 

50 


A  FAREWELL 

so  that  the  last  night  in  port  might  be  merry. 
Punch,  strawberries,  and  a  pigeon-pie.  Captain 
Margaret  proposed  the  conundrum,  why  straw- 
berries would  be  considered  flippant  among  the 
bakemeats  at  a  funeral  dinner.  Captain  Cammock 
gorged  the  conundrum,  hook  and  all. 


51 


Ill 

OUTtFARDS 

*  And  we  are  bound  to  New  Barbary 
With  all  our  whole  ship's  company.' 

Captain  Glen* 

*  I  have  a  vessel  riding  forth,  gentlemen, 
And  I  can  tell  you  she  carries  a  letter  of  mart. 
What  say  you  now  to  make  you  all  adventurers  ? 
You  shall  have  fair  dealing,  that  I'll  promise  you.' 

A  Cure  for  a  Cuckold. 

A  FTER  supper,  the  party  went  on  deck  again,  to 
see  the  last  of  their  country.  The  two  mates, 
who  had  their  cabins  in  the  after  'tween-decks,  where 
they  messed,  had  made  all  ready  for  getting  under 
way.  The  hands  walked  to  and  fro  about  the 
fo'c's'le,  waiting  for  the  order.  The  last  bum-boat 
had  shoved  off  for  the  shore,  having  sold  her  last 
onion  and  last  box  of  red  herrings.  Snatches  of 
song  came  aft  to  the  poop.  It  was  slack  water ;  the 
sea  seemed  to  be  marking  time.  Already,  further 
up  the  harbour,  a  schooner  had  swung  athwart  the 
stream.  One  or  two  boats  were  hoisting  their  fore- 
sails, ready  to  catch  the  first  ebb.  The  sun  was 
still  strong  in  the  heavens  ;  there  was  more  than  an 
hour  of  day  to  come. 

'  We  may  as  well  up  hook,'  said  Cammock,  '  if 
you'll  say  the  word,  sir.' 

52 


OUTV/ARDS 

'All  ready,  captain,'  said  Margaret.  'We'll  go 
as  soon  as  you  like.' 

'  Right,'  said  Cammock,  bustling  forward  to  the 
poop-rail.     '  Hands  up  anchor,  bosun.' 

The  boatswain's  pipe  made  the  call.  The  fo'c's'le 
was  thronged  with  hurrying  sailors.  The  trum- 
peter at  the  gangway  blew  a  flourish,  and  sounded 
his  '  Loath  to  depart.'  The  men  cheered  as  the 
bars  were  shipped.  The  waisters  tended  on  the 
messenger  with  their  nippers.  Slowly  the  pawls 
began  to  click  as  the  men  strained  round,  heaving 
on  tiptoe.  The  two  capstans  hove  in,  moving  the 
cable.  All  down  the  'tween-decks  rang  the  snapping 
creak  of  a  cable  at  a  shaking  strain.  Some  one  at 
one  of  the  bars,  down  in  the  half-darkness,  began 
to  sing.  The  crowd  made  chorus  together,  lifting 
the  tune.  Voice  after  voice  joined  in.  Bar  after 
bar  sounded  and  shouted.  The  ship  rang  with 
song.  The  music  of  the  tune  floated  out  over  the 
harbour.  In  the  sixth-rate,  the  men  joined  in,  till 
the  whole  crew  were  singing.  Ashore  they  heard 
it.  In  the  schooners  at  anchor,  in  the  inns  ashore, 
in  the  dance-house  up  the  town,  the  music  made 
echo,  stirring  the  heart.  As  the  light  wind  moved 
or  failed,  so  died  the  tune  or  lifted.  With  a  great 
sweep  it  rose  up,  towering  on  many  voices,  then 
drooped  to  the  solo,  to  soar  again  when  the  men 
sang.  They  were  singing  that  they  would  go  no 
more  a-roving.  To  Margaret  and  Perrin,  standing 
there  at  the  poop-rail,  hearkening  to  them,  much 
moved  by  the  splendour  of  the  song,  the  coarse  old 
words  seemed  touching,  infinitely  sad,  the  whole  of 
sea-life  set  to  music. 

Now  they  were  moving  slowly,  making  the  water 

53 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

talk.  Their  spritsail  was  set.  Hands  were  aloft 
loosing  the  topsails.  On  the  fo'c's'le  head  the  mate 
bustled,  looking  over  the  rail.  Very  slowly  the 
ship  moved  ;  but  now,  as  she  left  her  berth,  head- 
ing for  the  narrows,  past  the  breakers,  where  Ram 
Rock  gleamed  in  his  smother,  the  song  at  the 
capstan  ceased.  On  deck,  a  watch  gathered  at  the 
halliards.  The  foretopsail  jolted  up  to  the  song  of 
*  Lowlands.'  Sail  was  being  made.  Voices  from 
aloft  gave  notice  to  hoist  away.  In  the  bustle  and 
confusion,  with  coils  of  rope  rattling  down,  men 
running  here  and  there,  getting  pulls  of  this  and 
that,  and  the  noise  of  the  sails  slatting,  the  two 
friends  walked  the  poop,  looking  back  at  the  sixth- 
rate,  dipping  their  ensign  to  her.  Cammock  had 
come  aft,  and  was  standing  by  them,  looking  aloft 
at  the  boy  on  the  maintopgallant  yard.  He  spun 
round  suddenly,  hearing  a  hail  from  the  man-of- 
war. 

'  Hullo  ! '  he  shouted  ;  adding,  under  his  breath, 
'  Lord,  she's  going  to  press  us.' 

He  darted  to  the  bulwark,  and  shouted  '  Hullo  ! ' 
again.  He  saw  the  mate  of  the  watch,  in  a  dirty 
old  tarred  coat,  walking  her  weather  gangway, 
where  a  soldier  stood  at  attention  in  old  red  regi- 
mentals. 

The  mate  of  the  watch  did  not  speak  to  them. 
He  merely  lifted  his  hand  to  Cammock,  and 
pointed  towards  the  jetty. 

*  A  boat  for  us,'  said  Perrln. 

'  Very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,'  cried  Cammock 
to  the  mate  of  the  watch. 

*  Lend  me  your  glass.  Captain  Cammock,'  said 
Margaret  uneasily. 

54 


OUTIVARDS 

He  seized  the  glass  hastily,  and  looked  at  the 
advancing  boat.  She  was  rowing  rapidly  towards 
them. 

*  Who  the  devil  can  it  be,'  said  Perrin,  as  he 
watched   Cammock   bring   the    ship    to   the   wind. 

*  Lord,   captain,'   he  said,    with    real   anger.     Mt's 
that  woman  with  her  husband.' 

*  It's  a  lady,  that's  plain,'  said  Cammock.  *  And 
they're  in  a  hurry.  The  man's  double-banking  the 
stroke  oar.' 

*  They've  got  a  lot  of  gear  in  the  boat,'  said 
Perrin. 

'  Presents,  I  guess,'  said  Cammock.  '  A  present 
of  fowls  and  that.     Or  a  case  or  two  of  bottles.' 

Captain  Margaret  flushed,  walked  up  and  down 
uneasily,  and  called  to  the  steward  to  open  wine. 

'  There's  something  queer,'  said  Cammock  to 
Perrin.  ^  Hark  at  all  them  shouts.  Gad,  sir,  1 
believe  they're  being  chased.  There's  two  shore 
boats  after  them.     Ain't  they  smoking,  hey  ? ' 

Indeed,  the  pursuing  boats  were  being  pulled 
furiously  ;  their  oars  were  bending. 

'  What  in  James  is  the  rally  } '  said  Cammock. 

*  Is  Captain  Margaret  made  King  of  England  or 
anything  .? ' 

Perrin  looked  at  Cammock  with  a  flush  upon 
his  face. 

*  Captain  Cammock,'  he  said,  '  they're  coming 
aboard  us.  They're  being  chased.  I  bet  they're 
flying  from  their  creditors.* 

'  Lord,'  said  Cammock. 

He  watched  the  chase  with  deeper  interest. 
Captain  Margaret  joined  them. 

'  Charles,'  said  Perrin,  *  they've  come  to  beg  a 

55 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

passage.  Stukeley's  being  chased  by  creditors. 
Man,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  take  them  in.  Don't, 
man.' 

'  What  nonsense,'  said  Margaret.  '  Have  you 
never  seen  these  boatmen  race  before  } ' 

Cammock  spoke.  '  I  suppose  you  want  me  to 
pick  them  up,  sir  } ' 

*  Certainly,'  said  Margaret. 

*  Very  good,  sir,'  he  answered. 

He  looked  at  the  hurrying  boats.  Cries  came 
from  the  pursuers.  Men  and  women  were  running 
down  the  steps  to  the  pier,  now  black  with  people, 
excited,  shouting  people.  Olivia  and  Stukeley 
were  now  almost  within  fifty  yards.  Stukeley  was 
standing  in  the  sternsheets,  double-banking  the 
stroke  with  all  his  strength. 

^  There,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  '  Did  you  hear 
that,  sir  .?  Those  fellows  in  the  cutter  are  singing 
out  to  them  to  stop.  There.  They're  going  to 
fire.' 

Captain  Margaret  muttered  something  ;  his  face 
flushed  suddenly,  and  then  became  pale.  A  gun 
was  fired  from  the  cutter. 

'  Firing  overhead,'  said  Cammock  absently. 

^  Captain  Cammock,'  cried  Margaret,  '  lively 
now  ;  get  her  off  to  her  course.* 

'  Ay,  ay,  sir,'  he  cried. 

He  sprang  to  the  helm,  shouting  his  orders. 
He  was  back  in  a  moment. 

'  Beg  pardon,  sir,'  he  said,  as  the  ship  paid  off. 
*  Are  you  not  going  to  pick  them  up  ? ' 

'  Yes,  of  course  I  am,'  said  Margaret. 

'  And  the  other  boats,  too,  sir  ^  ' 

*  No,'  he  answered.     'Not  yet  anyhow.' 

56 


OUTPTARDS 

A  hail  came  from  the  pursuing  boats.  '  Ship 
ahoy  !     Stop  those  persons  on  your  peril/ 

'  King's  officers,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  *  They're 
fugitives  from  the  law.  It's  transportation  to  re- 
ceive fugitives,  sir.* 

Two  more  guns  were  fired  in  quick  succession; 
a  bullet  from  one  of  them  struck  the  bends  of  the 
Broken  Heart, 

'  Arrest  those  fugitives.  In  the  name  of  the 
King,'  came  the  shout  of  a  man  in  the  cutter. 

The  words  were  clear  enough.  All  that  Mar- 
garet saw  was  Olivia's  face,  laughing  and  happy, 
her  great  eyes  bright,  as  the  boat  swept  alongside. 

'  It's  a  hanging  matter,  Charles,'  said  Perrin, 
biting  his  thumbs  till  the  blood  came. 

'  1  don't  care  if  they  hang  me  fifty  times,*  said 
Margaret.     *They  fired  at  her.' 

*  Oh,  all  right.  All  right,'  said  Perrin  resignedly. 
^  Now  we're  in  for  trouble,'  he  added  angrily.  '  Oh, 
damn  it.     Damn  it.     I  knew  how  it  would  be.' 

'  Hands  clear  boat,'  said  Cammock  to  the  boat- 
swain. 

Olivia  and  Stukeley  tripped  up  the  gangway  to 
the  quarter-deck. 

Margaret  greeted  them  ;  but  Stukeley  pushed 
past  him  to  Cammock  and  Perrin. 

*  Here,'  he  said,  drawing  them  aside.  *  We're 
coming  with  you.  I'm  wanted.  And  I'm  coming 
with  you.  She  thinks  I'm  coming  to  help — to 
help  the  Indians.'  He  seemed  to  choke  with  laugh- 
ter.    He  was  out  of  breath  from  rowing. 

Cammock  did  not  answer,  but  walked  to  the  rail, 
and  called  to  the  boatmen  in  the  boat.  *  Hook  on 
those  boxes  lively  now,'  he  said.   *  You'd  best  come 

$7 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

aboard,  all  four  of  you,  unless  you  want  a  taste  of 
gaol.' 

Two  of  the  men  hooked  on  the  trunks  in  one 
sling  ;  the  other  two  cast  off  the  boat  and  dropped 
astern,  as  the  tackle  swept  the  trunks  over  the  side. 
It  was  all  done  in  a  moment. 

Perrin  found  himself  with  Stukeley,  who  was 
talking.  ^  She  must  never  know  it,'  he  was  saying, 
between  gasps.  'Oh  Lord,  what  a  joke,  eh?' 
Perrin  heard  him  absently,  for  his  ears  were  strain- 
ing to  hear  what  his  friend  said  to  Olivia.  There 
she  was,  flushed  with  the  race,  swaying  a  little  as 
the  ship  swayed.  He  heard  the  words,  '  We  beat 
them,'  and  saw  her  go  to  the  rail  to  watch  the  pur- 
suing boats.  Perrin  took  off  his  hat,  advanced  to 
her,  and  bade  her  welcome.  He  could  have  hurled 
her  overboard  willingly.  His  reason  for  advancing 
was  to  see  what  the  pursuing  boats  were  doing. 

'  It  was  such  a  race,'  said  Olivia.  *  But  we  beat 
them.  They  chased  us  all  the  way  from  Halwell. 
It  was  such  fun.'  She  talked  on  excitedly  ;  Perrin 
had  never  seen  her  so  radiant.  She  was  delighted 
to  be  on  board,  going  to  the  New  World,  in  a  real 
ship.  And  then  the  suddenness  of  it,  and  the 
rush  of  the  boat-race. 

As  for  the  boats,  one  of  them,  the  cutter,  was 
a  hundred  yards  or  more  astern,  pulling  hard  upon 
their  quarter.  The  other  was  rowing  up  alongside 
the  sixth-rate.  Perrin  saw  a  man  in  a  red  coat 
waving  a  paper  from  her  sternsheets.  The  man- 
of-war's  deck  was  full  of  men,  who  had  crowded  to 
the  side  to  watch.  Cammock  was  hurrying  his 
hands.  His  maintopsail  and  topgallantsail  were 
mastheaded  together,  to  songs  which  made  Olivia 

58 


OUTJVARDS 

hasten  to  the  poop-rail  to  hearken.  Loud  was  the 
jolly  chorus.  The  ship  felt  the  sail.  Bubbles 
burst  brightly  over  the  trailing  anchor-flukes.  Old 
Harry  beacon  drove  by,  rolling  in  the  wash  they 
made.  Cammock  walked  aft  hurriedly  to  take  a 
bearing.  He  noticed  then  for  the  first  time  that 
the  cutter  which  had  fired  on  them  was  the  red 
cutter  of  the  man-of-war.  He  could  now  see  her 
broadside.  Her  men  fired  no  more.  They  were 
stepping  the  mast,  while  two  of  them  kept  way 
upon  her.  *  We're  in  for  it  now,'  he  thought. 
He  let  his  helmsman  feel  that  it  would  not  do  to 
glance  astern. 

'  You  mind  your  eye,'  he  said  fiercely.  He 
took  an  anxious  glance  at  the  Wolf  Rock,  and 
at  the  toppling  seas  on  the  Blackstone.  '  I  never 
saw  a  beastlier  place,'  he  said.  '  Haul  in  there, 
leadsman,'  he  shouted.    '  Another  cast,  now.' 

The  ship  seemed  to  pause  a  moment,  like  a  bird 
suddenly  stricken  with  the  palsy.  A  kind  of 
death  seemed  to  lay  hold  of  her,  checking  all 
on  board.  She  dragged  a  moment,  and  then  drove 
on,  muddying  the  sea.  She  had  touched  Ripple 
Sands. 

'  My  God,  we're  done  if  you  stick,'  said  Cam- 
mock.     '  And  here's  Splat  Point  and  the  Bass.' 

He  bent  over  the  binnacle  ;  Stukeley  came  to 
him. 

'  Hello,  captain,'  he  began.  '  My  old  sea-dog. 
Eh  1     Where  can  I  get  a  spot  of  brandy  ?     Eh  ^ ' 

Cammock  took  his  cross-bearing  without  answer- 
ing. Then  he  looked  steadily  at  the  harbour- 
mouth,  and  at  the  curved  white  line  of  the  bar. 
He  bade  his  helmsman  ^  come  to '  a  point.     He 

59 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

conned  the  ship,  ordered  a  small  pull  of  a  sheet, 
and  glanced  astern  at  the  man-of-war. 

Stukeley  repeated  his  question.  '  Where  can  I 
get  a  spot  of  brandy  ?     Eh  } ' 

Cammock  glanced  at  him  for  a  second.  '  Lots  of 
dirty  pubs  ashore  there,'  he  said  coldly.  He  turned 
to  look  again  at  the  man-of-war. 

He  was  not  too  far  from  her  to  see  that  she  was 
casting  loose  her  forecastle  gun.  He  looked 
bitterly  at  Stukeley.  '  I  wonder  what  youVe  done, 
my  duck,'  he  said  under  his  breath.  He  walked 
up  to  the  little  group  by  the  mizen  shrouds  ;  he 
wished  not  to  annoy  the  lady. 

'  Captain  Margaret,  sir,'  he  said.  '  May  I  just 
speak  to  you  a  moment } ' 

His  owner  stepped  aside  with  him. 

'  Look  here,  sir,'  he  said  hurriedly,  ^  the  man- 
of-war's  going  to  fire  on  us.  I  don't  know  what 
reasons  you  may  have  for  taking  these  people 
aboard.  But  the  man's  escaping  from  justice,  and 
the  lady's  been  bamboozled.  In  another  ten  ticks 
you'll  have  a  round-shot  into  you.  Now,  sir,  is  it 
fair  ?  A  round-shot  may  kill  and  maim  you  a 
dozen  hands,  with  the  decks  so  busy  as  they  are. 
Let  me  heave  her  to,  sir.  The  man's  a  damned 
scum.     And  it's  hanging  if  you're  caught.' 

Perrin  joined  them,  leaving  Olivia  alone.  Her 
husband  was  talking  to  the  helmsman,  getting  no 
answer. 

'  Charles,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  send  them  in,' 
said  Perrin.  'Do,  for  the  Lord's  sake,  think  what 
you're  doing.  You'll  ruin  yourself.  You'll  wreck 
the  cruise.  You  simply  can't  have  them  aboard. 
Look  at  that  great  hulking  beast  abaft  there.' 

60 


OUrWARBS 

'  Hi,  you/  called  Cammock  angrily.  *  Clear 
away  from  the  helm  there.' 

Stukeley  stared  at  him,  much  surprised. 

*  Yes,  I  mean  you,'  said  Cammock. 

*  No  man  must  talk  to  the  helmsman,'  said 
Margaret  gently. 

*  Your  old  sea-dog  hasn't  learned  manners,  eh  } ' 
said  Stukeley  insolently.     '  You  must  teach  him.' 

He  stared  at  Cammock,  who  returned  the  stare, 
and  then  spun  upon  his  heel  to  con  the  ship 
through  the  channel. 

Perrin  drew  Margaret  aside. 

*Oh,  Charles.  For  the  last  time.  Think  what 
you're  doing.  I  must  heave  her  to.  You  aren't 
fit  to  decide.     Heave  to.  Captain  Cammock.' 

*As  she  goes,'  cried  Margaret  angrily.  *  No, 
Edward,'  he  added  quietly  ;  '  I'll  take  them. 
I'll  save  her  one  shock,  anyway.  And  if  1  must 
hang  for  it,  I  must.     That's  settled.' 

'You  don't  even  know  what  he's  done,'  said 
Perrin. 

'  He's  her  husband,'  said  Margaret.  *  And  they 
fired  on  her.  They  fired  on  her.  Now  go  and 
talk  to  her.  No  more  talk,  Ned.  They're  coming 
with  us.     Go  and  talk  to  her.' 

Perrin  turned  from  his  friend  with  a  gesture  of 
childish  passion.  He  took  off  his  hat,  ripped  the 
brim  from  the  crown  with  a  single  violent  tug,  and 
flung  both  portions  into  the  sea.  Then  he  walked 
swiftly  down  the  ladder  (and  to  his  cabin)  mutter- 
ing curses  so  vehemently  that  they  seemed  to  shake 
him.  As  he  passed  under  the  cabin  door  a  flash 
came  from  the  bows  of  the  sixth-rate.  A  ball  from 
a  long  nine-pounder  hit  up  a  jet  from  the  gea  clos^ 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

alongside,  then  bounded  on,  raising  successive  jets, 
till  it  was  spent.  Another  shot  flew  over  them. 
A  third,  fired  after  an  interval,  brought  the  main- 
topgallant  braceblock  down.  A  part  of  the  sheave 
just  missed  Olivia's  head. 

'They  ought  not  to  salute  with  shot,'  explained 
Captain  Margaret.  'They  always  do.  And  that 
bit  of  lignum  vitae — feel  it  ;  isn't  it  beautifully 
smooth  and  hard — would  have  given  you  a  nasty 
bruise.  Hold  on,'  he  called,  catching  her  arm, 
'  she's  rolling.  We're  going  over  the  bar.  It's  all 
very  well  wishing  a  ship  a  pleasant  voyage,'  he 
continued.  '  But  I  wonder  they  don't  kill  people.' 
His  thought  was,  '  Can  she  be  such  a  fool  1  Surely 
she  must  know.'  But  at  that  time  he  knew  very 
little  of  Stukeley. 

Olivia  answered  him.  The  shot  and  the  rattle 
of  the  falling  gear  had  filled  her  mood.  '  Yes,'  she 
said.  '  But  I  must  be  prepared  for  that.  I  must 
be  with  Tom,  by  his  side,  when  we  fight  the 
Spaniards.  I  do  think  it's  fine  of  him  to  want  to 
help  the  Indians.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Captain  Margaret.  '  But  won't  you 
go  below  }  A  braceblock  on  the  head  is  a  very  bad 
preparation  for  helping  any  one.'  He  glanced 
anxiously  astern  at  the  man-of-war  ;  he  was  sur- 
prised to  see  that  she  was  not  in  sight.  The 
Broken  Heart  was  clear  of  the  harbour,  feeling  the 
heave  outside,  hidden  from  Salcombe  by  Lambury 
Point.  The  pursuing  cutter  was  sailing  back  to 
the  sixth-rate.  It  was  a  shock  to  him,  for  a  moment 
of  time,  to  think  that  now  he  had  burned  his  boats, 
and  that  he  was  pledged  to  a  very  doubtful  venture. 
'  There'll  be  no  more  firing,'  he  added.     '  Doesn't 

62 


OUTWARDS. 

Bolt  Head  look  fine  from  here  ?  Look  at  the 
breakers  on  the  rocks  there.  Olivia,  you  must  put 
on  a  warm  coat  or  wrap.     The  sea-wind  is  cold.' 

'  I'd  rather  be  as  I  am,'  she  answered.  '  Tell  me, 
Charles,'  she  added,  '  are  you  sure  that  you  would 
like  us  to  come  with  you  ?  Quite  sure  ?  We 
could  easily  go  ashore  at  Plymouth.  But  my  hus- 
band is  so  bent  on  coming,  and  he'll  be  so  useful  to 
you.  You  will  let  us  come,  won't  you  }  You 
know,  all  my  life  has  been  so  empty.  And  now. 
Now  I'm  so  happy,  I  want  every  one  else  to  be 
happy.     Oh,  I'd  love  to  help  the  Indians.* 

'  You  shall  come,  certainly,'  said  the  captain. 
*  But  are  you  sure  you're  fitted  for  the  voyage  } 
Our  venture  is  not  exactly.  Ladies  are  out  of 
place.     You   may  have   to  suffer  a  great  deal  of 

very  great  hardship.      And  then  you  might 1 

want  you  to  think,  Olivia.  You  might — we  all 
might — be  captured  by  the  Spaniards.' 

'  Oh,'  she  answered,  *  I  went  into  that  with  Tom, 
after  you'd  gone,  about  half  an  hour  after,  when 
I  told  him  of  your  visit.  Directly  I  told  him  of 
it,  he  was  eager  to  come  with  you.  The  first 
thing  he  said  was,  "  Olivia,  do  you  think  your 
friends  would  take  us  } "  ' 

*  It  must  have  been  rather  a  shock  to  you.  To 
decide  in  such  a  hurry.' 

*  Oh  ;  but  it  is  so  nice  to  do  that.  Besides,  if 
we  hadn't  decided,  we  -should  have  gone  to  Venice, 
or  somewhere  not  half  so  nice.' 

*  Well.  How  will  you  like  being  at  least  six 
months  from  home.    Have  you  reckoned  on  that?' 

*  Oh,  but  the  only  home  one  has  is  just  one's 
self.     The  only  real  home.' 

6s 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'Now,  Olivia.  I  love  to  have  you  with  me. 
You  know  that  of  course.  But  you  don't  realize 
how  disagreeable  the  life  may  be.*  A  thought 
struck  him.  '  Yes,'  he  muttered  excitedly.  '  Nor 
how  dangerous/  he  added,  '  how  frightfully  dan- 
gerous.' 

'One  can  always  be  one's  self,'  she  replied.  'And 
I  shan't  be  afraid  of  danger,  with  Tom  by  me.' 

'  And  the  danger  will  threaten  him,  remember.' 

'  I  shall  take  care  of  him.' 

Something  in  her  voice,  in  her  manner,  made 
Captain  Margaret  think  that  Olivia's  willingness  to 
come  with  them  was  merely  a  willingness  to  please 
her  husband.  It  seemed  to  him  that  her  first  sight 
of  England  from  the  sea  had  come  upon  her  with 
a  shock.  He  felt  that  she  only  kept  from  tears  by 
an  effort,  now  that  the  excitement  of  the  race  had 
passed.  He  saw  her  look  at  the  men  who  hauled 
the  braces  ;  following  her  train  of  thought,  that 
these  were  to  be  her  companions  for  months  to 
come.  He  felt  instinctively  that  her  mind  began 
to  dwell  upon  the  possible  disagreeable  closeness 
of  companionship,  shut  up  in  a  small  ship's  cabin, 
with  three  or  four  men.  He  wondered  whether 
Stukeley  had  bullied  her  into  the  venture.  He 
thought  not.  He  had  ever  believed  a  rogue  to  be 
plausible,  rather  than  masterful.  He  promised 
himself  some  little  amusement  in  cross-examining 
Stukeley,  to  learn  the  history  of  that  day's  work. 
He  remembered  then  that  he  was  their  host.  He 
called  Stukeley.  '  Won't  you  both  come  below,'  he 
said,  '  to  see  what  sort  of  house  you've  chosen  ? ' 
He  led  them  down  the  poop-ladder  to  the  alley- 
wav  door.    As  he  passed  the  door  of  Perrin's  cabjn 

64 


OUTWARDS 

he  heard  a  shaking  voice  uttering  fierce  curses. 
Perrin  was  stamping  up  and  down,  wholly  given 
over  to  rage. 

Up  on  deck,  Captain  Cammock  walked  the 
weather-poop,  glad  at  heart  that  the  wind  was 
freshening.  The  Broken  Heart  was  lying  over  a 
little,  with  the  wind  on  her  starboard  beam.  She 
was  under  all  sail,  going  through  it  at  about  five 
knots.  *  I  shall  drive  you,  my  duck,'  he  said. 
'  You  shall  groan  to-night.'  He  longed  for  a 
whole  gale,  a  roaring  Western  Ocean  gale,  that 
the  passengers  might  learn  their  folly.  He  eyed 
the  sails,  stiff  and  trembling,  with  shaking  shadows 
at  their  clues.  The  carpenter  was  screwing  battens 
behind  the  gun-trocks  ;  the  boatswain  and  half  the 
watch  were  forward,  singing  out  on  a  rope.  Captain 
Cammock  watched  them  whenever  he  turned  for- 
ward. When  he  walked  aft,  he  turned,  glanced  at 
the  compass,  looked  aloft  at  the  maintopgallant 
sail,  and  noted  the  feathers  on  the  wind-vane. 
He  was  reviewing  the  situation.  *  It  was  a  good 
thing  for  us,'  he  thought,  '  that  that  duchess  lady 
was  aboard  that  frigate.  Otherwise  we'd  a-been 
chased  and  took.  Now  how  was  it  her  boat  gave 
chase  }  The  duchess  lady  arrives  from  the  south  ; 
after  six  days  at  sea,  say.  She  sends  in  for  letters 
and  stores,  and  the  boat  waits  at  the  pier.  Now 
this  Stukeley  fellow  came  alongside  us  in  a  shore 
boat,  from  Salcombe.  I  saw  the  word  Salcombe 
on  her  backboard.      Now  if  I  was  that  Stukeley 

duck How   could   it  have  been,   I   wonder. 

He  couldn't    have    come    from    the  pier,   because 
the  man-of-war  boat  lay  there.     If  he  wanted  to 
get  away,  what  would  he  have  done  ?     He'd  have 
F  65 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

left  word  for  his  gear  to  be  brought  down  to  the 
water  ;  and  then  gone  off  for  a  walk  or  drive. 
Then  he'd  have  sent  a  boat  for  his  gear,  and  got 
her  to  pick  him  up  and  row  him  about,  up  to- 
wards Kingsbridge,  say,  as  soon  as  ever  he  decided 
to  come  aboard  of  us.  He  knew  he  was  wanted, 
that  duck  did.  Yes.  That  was  it.  For  sure. 
And  them  who  was  laying  for  him  hears  of  that, 
and  sends  up  a  boat  to  look  for  him  ;  but  he 
gives  her  the  slip.  As  soon  as  the  ebb  begins, 
he  runs  down.  And  away  he  comes  full  tilt  for 
us.  Now  some  who  was  laying  for  him  must 
have  been  on  the  jetty,  waiting  for  him  to  land. 
Soon  as  ever  he  come  past,  they  nip  into  the 
cutter  in  the  name  of  the  King  and  pull  after  him. 
A  little  too  far  after.  One  boat  pulls  to  the  frigate, 
and  so  we  get  three  nine-pounder  shots  sent  at  us, 
before  the  duchess  lady  tells  'em  to  stop  that  horrid 
firing.  I  wonder  what  that  Stukeley  duck  has 
done,  now.' 

He  turned  over  this  outline  of  the  Stukeley 
escape,  just  as,  years  before,  he  had  pieced  out 
evidence,  and  scouts'  reports,  when  he  was  cruising 
on  the  Spanish  Main.  He  had  always  wished  to 
have  a  command  on  the  Main  ;  for  he  had  more 
than  courage  to  recommend  him.  He  had  a  keen 
intuitive  shrewdness  and  a  power  of  deduction. 
'They  never  give  me  a  chance  on  the  Main,'  he 
thought.  *  But  I  was  right  about  them  roasting 
spuds.'  He  sighed.  That  error  of  his  captain 
had  lost  them  a  pound  of  gold  apiece.  '  Now,'  he 
thought,  *  if  them  two  birds  is  coming  the  cruise 
we  shan't  have  a  very  happy  ship.' 

Bell  after  bell  passed  by ;  the  day  wore ;  the  sun 

66 


OUTfVARDS 

set.  As  he  had  foretold,  the  wind  drew  more  to 
the  west  ;  freshening  as  it  shifted.  The  Broketi 
Heart  was  beginning  to  feel  the  strain.  She  was 
lying  down  a  little,  and  whitening  a  path  in  the 
sea.  She  was  full  of  odd  noises.  The  breech- 
ings  on  her  guns  were  new,  they  cracked  and 
creaked  at  each  roll  ;  her  decks  groaned  as  the 
trocks  ground.  At  two  bells,  when  the  hands 
came  aft  to  muster,  in  the  summer  twilight,  having 
catted  the  anchor,  she  was  seven  miles  from  land, 
driving  on  in  the  dusk,  making  the  seas  gleam. 
Her  poop-light,  like  a  burning  rose  abaft  all,  red- 
dened her  wake  with  bloody  splashes.  She  stooped 
to  it  and  staggered.  Over  her  bows  came  the 
sprays,  making  the  look-outs  cower  down  in  their 
tarred  coats.  The  water  whitened  aft  in  a  wash- 
ing rush,  gleaming  and  creaming.  By  the  break 
of  the  poop  the  watch  lay.  A  score  of  men 
huddled  together  in  the  shade,  marshalled  by  the 
boatswain  in  his  old  blue  cloak,  scurfed  with  salt 
at  the  scams.  Voices  murmured  among  them  ; 
one  lit  a  pipe,  one  hummed.  The  wind  in  ,the 
shrouds  hummed  ;  already  the  blocks  were  clack- 
ing. Now  and  then,  as  they  rushed  on,  in  the 
gathering  darkness,  the  boy  above  struck  the  bell  ; 
and  from  forward  came  the  answering  bell,  with 
the  call  of  the  look-outs,  *  Weather  cathead,'  *  Lee 
cathead,'  showing  that  they  were  alert.  The  steward 
came  from  the  alleyway,  snuffing  up  the  strong 
salt  air  ;  he  climbed  the  lee  ladder  to  the  poop. 
Battling  up  to  windward  against  the  gale,  he  halted 
and  uncovered  before  the  captain. 

'  Well,  steward,'  said  Cammock. 

'  Captain  Margaret  sends  his  compliments  to  you, 

67 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

seh/  said  the  old  negro,  with  the  soft  '  boneless  * 
speech  of  his  kind,  '  and  will  you  step  below,  seh, 
to  speak  with  him  in  the  cabin.' 

*  Tell  him  I'll  be  down  in  a  minute,'  said  Cam- 
mock.  He  glanced  at  the  compass-card  again,  and 
spoke  a  word  with  old  Mr.  Cottrill,  the  mate, 
whose  watch  it  was,  according  to  old  sea  custom. 
'Call  me  if  it  freshens,'  he  said;  'but  don't  take 
any  sail  off.' 

Mr.  Cottrill  murmured  that  he  understood,  and 
bent  under  his  coat  to  get  a  light  for  his  pipe.  His 
thought  was,  '  I've  shipped  with  pirates.  With 
pirates.'  The  memory  of  that  afternoon  gave  him 
bitter  thoughts  till  midnight,  as  the  ship  rushed  on, 
under  the  stars,  carrying  her  freight  of  passion,  her 
freight  of  souls. 

Down  below  in  the  cabin  the  lamp  had  been 
lighted.  The  curtains  had  been  drawn  across  the 
windows,  and  now  swayed  a  little  with  the  roll, 
making  a  faint  clink  of  rings.  They  were  dark 
green  curtains  ;  but  on  each  of  them  was  worked 
a  blood-red  tulip,  which  glowed  out  finely  in 
the  lamplight.  The  windows  were  open  behind 
the  curtains.  At  times,  when  the  ship  pitched, 
the  cloth  sucked  in  or  out,  sending  the  lamp-flame 
dancing.  At  the  table  were  the  two  Stukeleys  and 
Captain  Margaret.  Perrin  sat  upon  the  locker  by 
the  window,  biting  his  poor  raw  thumbs.  When 
Captain  Cammock  entered,  he  noticed  that  Olivia 
had  been  drinking  a  bowl  of  soup,  and  that 
Stukeley  was  staring  hard  in  front  of  him,  clutch- 
ing his  glass  of  spirits. 

'You're  turning  sick,'  said  Cammock  to  him- 
self.    '  Wait  till  we  haul  our  wind,  my  duck.     Oh 

68 


OUTWARDS 

mommer.*  A  single  hard  glance  at  Olivia  con- 
vinced him  that  she  felt  wretched.  '  More  than 
you  bargained  for,  ain't  it  ? '  he  thought  cheer- 
fully.    '  You  wait  till  we  haul  our  wind.' 

He  had  the  common  man's  hatred  of  strange- 
ness and  of  strangers.  He  loved  not  to  have 
more  folk  aboard  to  interrupt  his  chats  with  his 
owners,  and  to  sit  in  the  sacred  cabin,  ordering  his 
steward. 

'Captain  Cammock,'  said  Margaret,  Met  me 
introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Stukeley.     Mr.  Stukeley.' 

The  captain  bowed. 

*  Captain  Cammock  is  our  commander,  Olivia.' 
Olivia  smiled  at  the  captain,  much  as  a  Christian 

martyr  may  have  smiled. 

*  Pleased  to  meet  you,  ma'am,'  said  the  captain, 
bowing. 

He  felt  a  queer  gush  of  pity  for  her,  remember- 
ing how  he  had  felt,  years  before,  on  his  first  night 
at  sea. 

'  I  hope  you  won't  make  my  little  ship  giddy, 
ma'am,'  he  said  kindly.  '  You  must  wear  veils. 
All  ladies  has  to,  when  they  come  on  deck.     You 

know,  ma'am '     He   sat  down   at  the  foot  of 

the  table.  '  I  seen  a  ship  quite  lose  her  head  one 
time.  And  the  girl  who  done  it  wasn't  to  be 
compared,  not  to  you.' 

'  You  see,  Olivia,'  said  Margaret,  '  a  sailor  loses 
no  time.' 

'  You  must  come  on  deck  and  see  the  moon  by 
and  by,  ma'am,'  said  Cammock  kindly.  *And  bring 
your  husband.  It's  nice  and  fresh  up  on  the  deck. 
It'll  do  you  good  before  turning  in,  I  dare  say,'  he 
went  on.     M  dare  say  you've  never  seen  the  sea  at 

69 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

night.  Not  all  round  you.  No }  Well,  you 
come  up.* 

Olivia  thanked  him  for  his  invitation. 

*  I've  lived  by  the  sea  all  my  life/  she  said  ; 
'  but  I  was  never  on  it  in  a  ship  before,  except 
when  I  went  to  France.' 

The  words  were  very  hard  to  speak  ;  for  as  she 
spoke,  with  a  rush,  with  a  flash,  burningly,  as  tears 
come,  came  the  memory  of  her  sheltered  life  at 
home,  with  her  old  servants,  and  her  garden  full  of 
flowers,  over  which  now,  at  this  moment,  the  moon 
was  rising,  lighting  the  moths  to  their  honey.  She 
was  homesick  ;  she  longed  for  that  old  life.  Life 
had  gone  very  smoothly  there  ;  and  now  she  was 
at  sea  in  a  ship,  among  rough  men,  amid  noise  and 
bawling  and  the  roaring  of  wind.  She  kept  a 
brave  face  upon  it,  but  her  heart  was  wretched  ; 
she  wondered  why  her  husband  did  not  understand. 
She  longed  for  the  peace  of  her  quiet  room  at 
home,  full  of  the  scent  of  flowers,  and  of  that 
vague  scent,  pleasant,  and  yet  morbid,  which  hangs 
about  all  houses  where  there  has  been  a  fine  tradi- 
tion of  life.  Old  things,  old  beautiful  things,  seem 
to  give  out  this  scent,  the  scent  of  the  dead  sweet 
pea-blossom.  Wherever  that  vague  perfume  lingers, 
something  of  the  old  world  lives,  something  beau- 
tiful, stately,  full  of  sweet  care.  Olivia  was  made 
for  that  life  of  lovely  order.  Her  life  had  been 
passed  in  the  gathering  of  flowers,  in  the  playing 
of  music,  in  dances,  in  the  reading  of  poems.  All 
sweet  and  lovely  and  gracious  things  had  wrought 
her  ;  but  they  had  not  fitted  her  for  this.  Some- 
thing was  wrong  with  the  justice  of  the  world  ;  for 
surely  such  as  she  should  have  been  spared.     She 

70 


OUTH^ARDS 

was  not  for  the  world  ;  not  at  least  for  the  world 
of  men.  She  was  the  idea  of  woman  ;  she  should 
have  been  spared  the  lot  of  women.  Her  beautiful 
grace,  her  beautiful  refinement,  surely  they  were 
beautiful  enough  for  her  to  be  spared.  Now  this 
violence  had  happened  ;  this  brutal  rearrangement  of 
her  life,  needing  further  violence  to  remedy.  At 
the  time  she  understood  nothing  of  what  had  hap- 
pened. She  was  stunned  and  surprised,  as  a  flower 
dug  up  and  transplanted  must  be  surprised  and 
stunned.  She  drooped  and  pined  ;  this  alien  soil 
made  her  shrink.  As  she  sat  there,  ignorant  of 
the  world,  highly  ignorant,  even,  of  the  nature  of 
sea-sickness,  she  wondered  why  her  husband  made  no 
effort  to  cheer  her,  to  comfort  her,  to  be  about  her, 
like  a  strong  wall,  shutting  out  the  world.  In  her 
home  by  the  sea,  by  lamplight,  over  her  music,  she 
had  often  dreamed  of  the  lover  who  would  fill  her 
life.  She  had  thought  of  him  as  of  one  who  would 
live  her  life  by  imaginative  sympathy,  thinking  her 
thoughts,  feeling  with  her  own  fineness  of  tact, 
following  each  shy,  unspoken  thought  in  the  pass- 
ing of  shadow  or  smile,  in  the  change  of  the  voice, 
in  the  gesture,  or  even  without  such  help,  by  an 
extreme  unselfish  sensitiveness.  She  found  com- 
fort in  the  thought  that  her  husband  must  be 
debating  the  wisdom  of  this  cruise,  which,  only  a 
few  hours  ago,  had  seemed  so  wise,  so  noble,  so 
right  in  every  way. 

Captain  Margaret  broke  the  silence  which  had 
followed  her  last  words. 

'  Captain  Cammock,'  he  said,  '  weVe  making  a 
new  arrangement  in  the  cabins.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Stukeley  will   have  my  double  cabin  to  starboard 

71 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

here.  I  shall  have  the  spare  bunk  in  Mr.  Perrin's 
cabin.  I  shall  want  you  to  beat  up  to  Falmouth, 
captain.* 

'  You'll  run  some  risk  of  gaol,  Charles,'  said  the 
petulant  friend  on  the  locker-tops.  *  You'll 
probably  be  wanted  by  this  time  to-morrow  all 
over  the  west  of  England.' 

'  You  were  always  a  pessimist,'  said  Margaret. 

'  Is  the  lady  to  go  ashore,  then  ^ '  said  Cam- 
mock,  looking  towards  Olivia. 

*  I  hope  not,'  said  Margaret.  *  But  if  she  stays  she 
must  have  a  maid.     We  shall  put  her — let  me  see.' 

'  Where  will  you  put  her  ^ '  asked  Perrin. 
*  There's  no  room.  You  surely  won't  put  her  in 
the  'tween-decks  ? ' 

'No,'  replied  his  friend.  'We  must  make  up  a 
room  in  the  sail-room.  Captain  Cammock  must 
shift  his  sails  into  the  'tween-decks.' 

'  She'll  have  the  biggest  room  in  the  ship,'  said 
Cammock.  '  She'll  be  able  to  give  a  ball  to  the 
hands.' 

'  Charles,'  said  Olivia,  '  I  don't  think  I  can 
possibly  come  with  you.  I'm  giving  you  too 
much  trouble.' 

She  was  hurt,  now,  that  it  was  Charles,  not  her 
husband,  who  had  thought  of  her  comfort,  and 
shown  that  he  considered  her  position. 

'  Nonsense,'  said  Margaret.  '  You're  being  very 
nice.  You  just  make  all  the  difference.  Now, 
you're  both  tired  out.  Your  cabin's  quite  ready 
for  you.  Suppose  we  all  go  on  deck  to  take  the 
air  for  a  while  before  we  say  good  night.' 

As  they  filed  on  deck,  Cammock  drew  Stukeley 
aside. 

72 


OUTH^ARDS 

*  See  here/  he  said.  '  YouVe  giving  way  to  it. 
You'll  be  as  sick  as  a  dog  if  you  give  way  to  it. 
What  you  want  to  do  is  to  get  some  nice  fat  pork, 
or  a  bit  of  greasy  bacon,  now.  Or  lard.  The 
steward  'd  lend  you  a  ball  of  lard.  Or  get  one  of 
the  hands  to  puff  tobackcr  at  yer.  Or  take  a  suck 
at  a  little  melted  butter,  or  some  of  that  salad  oil 
as  they  call  it.     It'll  fetch  you  up  all  standing.' 

He  turned  to  his  owner  as  Olivia  left  the  poop. 
'  And  you  wish  me  to  beat  for  Falmouth,  sir  ? ' 

*  If  you  please,'  answered  Captain  Margaret. 

*  Very  good,  sir.  Til  go  about  at  once.  I  can 
tack  with  the  watch.  Mr.  Cottrill,'  he  shouted, 
'Ready  oh.' 

His  advice  to  Stukeley  had  the  usual  results. 
Olivia's  first  night  at  sea  was  passed  in  the  marriage- 
bed  of  the  state-room  by  the  side  of  a  sea-sick 
boor,  who  groaned  and  damned  and  was  violently 
sick  all  through  the  night.  He  complained  of  cold 
before  the  dawn  broke,  so  she  gave  him  her  share 
of  blankets,  tenderly  tucking  him  in.  Up  on  deck 
the  men  passed  quietly  to  relieve  the  wheel.  The 
main  brace-blocks  grunted  and  rattled  ;  the  mizen 
topsail  sheets  flogged  on  the  woolding  of  the 
mast,  making  a  noise  like  drums.  Up  and  down 
above  her  head,  in  a  soft,  never-ending  shuffle, 
went  the  ship's  boy,  keeping  the  lee  poop.  At 
each  bell  she  heard  the  hails  of  the  look- 
outs :  '  Weather  cathead,'  '  Lee  cathead,'  '  Gang- 
way,' *  Lee  poop,'  coming  in  the  gusts  of  the 
storm.  Often,  too,  she  heard  a  noise  which  she 
had  never  heard  before,  a  terrifying  noise,  the 
noise  of  water  breaking  aboard,  the  lash  of  spray 
against  her  scuttle.     The  wind  freshened  through 

7Z 


CAFFAIN  MARGARET 

the  night,  till  it  blew  a  fresh  gale.  The  Broken 
Heart  took  on  strange  antics,  which  seemed  very 
dreadful  to  Olivia.  Far  aft,  as  she  was,  the  pitch- 
ing was  violent  and  broken.  Each  little  sea  seemed 
deep  as  the  valley  of  the  shadow.  The  roaring  in 
the  shrouds  increased.  At  4  a.m.,  all  hands  reefed 
topsails.  Creeping  out  of  bed  to  the  great  cabin, 
she  managed  to  peep  to  leeward  through  the  sky- 
light, in  a  heavy  lee-roll,  which  made  her  clutch 
the  table.  She  saw  a  wild  sky,  notched  by  the  sea ; 
great  billows  foaming,  spray  flying  down  wind, 
angry  gleams  in  blown  cloud.  From  just  above 
her  head  came  the  bull-roar  of  Captain  Cammock, 
who  was  damning  the  mizen-top  men.  *  Lay  in  to 
the  top,  you,'  he  was  shouting.  *  Lay  down  a  few 
of  you  and  clue  it  up.'  Then  from  just  above  her 
head  came  the  thunder  of  the  slatting  sail  as  the 
topsail  yard  came  down.  '  Away.  Away.  Lee-ay,' 
came  the  startling  shouts  of  the  men  on  the  clue- 
lines.  The  sail  thundered  and  jangled.  The  men 
roared  at  the  ropes.  Captain  Cammock,  with  his 
head  tilted  back,  yelled  to  them  to  lay  out,  and 
hand  the  leech  in.  One  phrase  struck  upon  her 
sharply.  He  bade  them  make  it  fast,  letting  the 
bunt  go  to  a  place  she  had  never  heard  of  '  Pass 
your  gaskets.  Pass  them  yard-arm  gaskets.  Get 
on  the  yard,  you.  Stamp  that  damned  bunt  down.' 
The  excited  angry  tone,  the  noise,  the  wild  sky,  all 
helped  her  fears.  She  crept  back  to  Stukeley's  side 
sure  that  the  end  was  coming,  that  the  gale  was 
increasing  to  a  hurricane,  and  that,  in  a  little  while, 
they  would  all  sink  together  in  some  wild  whirl- 
pool screamed  over  by  the  seagulls. 

On  the  third  day  of  storm,  they  managed  to  beat 

74 


OUTfVARDS 

into  Falmouth,  where  they  anchored  off  Trefusis 
Point.  It  was  a  wild,  wet  morning  when  they 
anchored.  The  wooded  combe  of  Trefusis  was 
hidden  in  cloud,  which  continually  whirled  off  in 
streamers,  as  new  cloud  drove  along,  to  catch  in 
the  tree  tops.  The  Broken  Heart  ^?is  the  only  ship 
in  the  anchorage  ;  though  over  against  Flushing 
there  were  a  few  fishing-boats,  rocking  in  the  tide- 
way. Captain  Margaret  went  into  Falmouth,  with 
Perrin  and  Olivia,  to  engage  a  maid.  Stukeley  was 
too  weak  from  his  sickness  to  leave  the  ship.  To 
Margaret  it  was  a  sign  that  his  crime  was  exceed- 
ingly foul. 

'  You  have  been  badly  scared,  my  friend,'  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  sat  down  beside  Olivia  in  the 
boat.  ^  If  you  persist  in  leaving  England,  after 
being  sick  like  that.' 

Olivia  had  found  comfort  in  what  she  took  to  be 
her  husband's  nobleness.  She  was  proud  that  her 
husband  had  not  abandoned  his  ideas  because  of 
his  bodily  distress.  By  this  time,  too,  she  had  seen 
the  potency  of  sea-sickness.  She  had  seen  its 
effect  upon  a  strong  man.  She  had  got  over  her 
first  homesick  terror  of  the  sea.  The  storm  had 
exhilarated  her.  Up  on  deck,  hanging  to  the  mizen 
rigging,  behind  the  weather-cloth,  she  had  felt  the 
rapture  of  the  sea.  She  had  gone  below  with  her 
cheeks  flushed  and  her  eyes  shining,  cheered  and 
delighted.  She  had  been  touched,  too,  by  the 
kindness  of  the  three  men  of  the  afterguard. 
Cammock  had  given  up  his  cabin  to  the  sick  man, 
so  that  she  might  have  the  great  cabin  to  herself, 
in  peace  and  quiet.  She  had  been  very  busy  in 
getting  her  cabin  into  order,  even  in  the  tumble  of 

75 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

the  storm.    Now  that  she  had  made  the  state-room 
a  home  she  had  less  terror  of  the  sea. 

It  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  engage  a  maid  for  such 
a  voyage.  They  tried  at  many  mean  houses,  using 
tempting  promises  ;  but  without  success.  At  last 
they  called  at  the  poor-house,  where  they  had  their 
choice  of  several.  An  idiot  girl,  aged  twenty,  four 
old  women  who  remembered  King  James,  and  the 
widow  Inigo,  a  black  but  comely  woman,  in  the 
prime  of  life,  who  had  gone  under  after  a  succes- 
sion of  disasters  beginning  with  the  death  of  her 
husband.  They  struck  a  hard  bargain  with  the 
widow  Inigo,  and  then  bore  her  down  the  hill  to 
buy  her  an  outfit  for  the  voyage.  At  the  mercer's 
shop,  where  Olivia  and  the  widow  made  their  pur- 
chases. Captain  Margaret,  following  his  invariable 
custom,  began  a  conversation  with  one  of  the  shop- 
men, a  youth  just  out  of  his  apprenticeship. 

*  How  long  do  you  have  to  stay  here  every  day  ?' 
'  About  twelve  hours,  sir.     From  six  till  six.' 

^  That's  a  very  long  day's  work,  isn't  it  ^  Do 
you  have  those  hours  all  the  year  round,  or  only  in 
the  summer  1 ' 

'  All  the  year  round,  sir.' 

'  And  what  holidays  do  you  have  ? ' 

'  Holidays,  sir  ^  Easter,  and  Christmas,  and 
Whitsuntide.     Of  course  I've  my  Sundays.' 

'  And  how  do  you  pass  your  spare  time  ? ' 

'  I  go  out  with  fellows,  sir.' 

'  A  nd  what  do  you  do  ? ' 

*  Sometimes  we  dub  at  something.' 
'  And  what  is  dub  ? ' 

*We  put  up  a  bottle  somewhere,  and  then  we 
dub  at  it.' 

76 


OUTWARDS 

'  Is  that  all  you  do  ? ' 

'  On  Thursdays  our  club  meets.  Then  we  have 
singing.' 

'  And  do  you  read  at  all  ? ' 

^No,  sir,  I  can't  say  as  I  ever  do,  sir.  I  don't 
want  much  reading  after  the  shutters  are  up.' 

'  I  should  have  thought  that  you'd  have  been  a 
great  reader.  Don't  you  find  your  work  very 
interesting  ? ' 

*  Oh.     It's  all  right,  sir.     Like  any  other  work.' 

'  Yes.  But.  Take  these  woollen  things,  for 
instance.  Don't  you  think  of  all  the  hands  it  has 
passed  through  ?  Don't  you  think  of  the  sheep  up 
on  the  hills,  and  the  shepherds  piping  to  them,  and 
the  great  lonely  downs,  eh,  with  nothing  but  sheep- 
bells  and  the  wind  } ' 

'  No,  sir.     Not  in  that  light  exactly.' 

'And  then,  don't  you  think  of  the  brooks  where 
they  wash  and  shear.''  And  then  the  great  combs 
and  looms,  with  so  many  people  combing  and 
weaving  and  spinning,  all  helping  to  make  this  } ' 
He  picked  up  the  warm  woollen  shirt,  and  handled 
it.  'And  don't  you  think  of  the  people  who  will 
wear  these  things  ? ' 

'  No,  sir.  You  see,  I'm  only  a  shopman.  Mr. 
Treloar,  the  owner,  he  thinks  of  all  these  things.' 

'And  will  not  you  be  a  shop-owner,  sometime, 
if  you  save  and  work  hard  } ' 

'  No,  sir.     Oh  no,  sir.     I'm  only  a  shopman.' 

'  Yes  ;  but  could  you  not  become  a  shop-owner  } 
Would  you  not  like  to  be  one  } ' 

'  No,  sir.     I  can't  say  as  I  should,  sir.' 

'  What  would  you  like  to  be  ? ' 

'  Of  all  things,  sir  .? ' 

77 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Yes; 

*  I  don't  know,  sir.     That's  rather  a  big  order, 


sir. 

^  Think.' 


'  1  think,  sir,  Fd  like  to  be.  Don't  let  Mr. 
Burls  hear,  sir.  He's  listening.  I'd  like  to  be  one 
of  these  buccaneers,  sir.  Fellows  what  goes  about 
fighting  the  Spaniards.  They  live  an  open-air  life. 
Not  like  here,  sir.  Oh,  Fd  like  to  lie  by  a  camp- 
fire,  sir,  with  a  lot  of  big  bronzed  men.  And  to 
have  a  gun,  sir.  And  then  to  attack  a  city  full  of 
treasure.' 

'  But  I  should  think  that  was  very  dangerous. 
Isn't  it .? ' 

'  No,  sir.  Not  by  all  accounts,  sir.  A  poor  lot, 
sir,  the  Spaniards.  They're  not  like  us,  you  know, 
sir.  Our  fellows  are  a  bull-dog  lot,  sir.  The  bull- 
dog breed,  sir.' 

'  Really  ! ' 

'  Oh  yes,  sir.  Why,  sir,  only  a  day  or  two  ago 
there  come  the  news-letter  from  Plymouth.  I  dare 
say  you  saw  it,  sir.  And  there  was  a  Virginia  ship 
at  Salcombe,  it  says.  Did  you  see  that  bit,  sir  } 
And  a  forger  was  escaping  from  the  constables,  and 
he  got  on  board  this  ship  and  bribes  the  captain, 
and  he  carries  the  man  off  safe,  with  the  men-of- 
war  all  firing  broadsides  on  him.  Oh,  it  must  be 
fine  to  hear  the  cannon-balls  coming  whizz.' 

'  Indeed  !    A  forger,  you  say  } ' 

'  A  forger,  sir  ;  but  he'd  done  other  things  as 
well,  sir,  of  course.  And  he'd  a  lady  with  him, 
too,  sir.' 

*  But  you  wouldn't  like  to  be  that  sort  of  man  1 ' 

'  No,  sir.' 

78 


OUTWARDS 

*  What  would  you  do  to  the  forger,  if  you  caught 
him?* 

^  I  should  give  him  up  to  the  constables,  sir.* 
'  And  the  ship-captain  ? ' 

*  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  haven't  thought  about  it 
much,  sir.* 

*  You  would  support  the  laws,  I  hope  } ' 
^  Oh  yes,  sir.' 

'  Even  if  he  were  a  buccaneer.' 

*  Oh,  now  you're  too  hard  on  me,  sir.* 

^  But  he  was  defying  the  law.  And  saving  a 
ruffian  from  it.' 

*  Yes,  sir.  Of  course  I  suppose  I  should  sup- 
port the  laws,  as  you  say.' 

^  It  would  be  rather  nice  to  be  a  buccaneer,  and 
to  obey  only  those  laws  which  one  is  strong  enough 
to  make  for  oneself.' 

'  Yes,  sir  ? ' 

'  To  defend  the  weak  and  to  make  money  by  it. 
Isn't  that  our  maxim  } ' 

The  shopman  giggled  nervously.     *  Yes,  sir.' 

*  I'm  a  buccaneer,'  said  Margaret.  '  Come  with 
me.  Won't  you  }  You  shall  be  what  you  really 
long  to  be.' 

*Oh,  but  I  couldn't  leave  the  shop,  sir.  Mr. 
Treloar  would  never ' 

*  Well,  think  it  over,'  said  Margaret,  rising.  '  I 
hope  you'll  send  all  these  things  down  to  the  land- 
ing-stage within  an  hour.  And  send  this  woman's 
box  down  with  them.' 

*  Oh,  I  will,  sir.     You  shall  find  them  there,  sir.* 
Captain  Margaret  paid  the  cost,  nodded  to   the 

shopman,  and  walked  out  with  Olivia.    Mrs.  Inigo 
resigned  her  box  and  followed  them.     They  went 

79 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

to  several  other  shops,  made  more  purchases,  trifled 
away  half  an  hour  at  a  pastrycook's,  and  then  set 
slowly  shorewards,  talking  little  ;  but  looking  at  the 
shops  with  interest.  They  would  see  no  more 
shops  for  many  days.  At  the  mercer's  shop  they 
paused  a  moment,  for  Captain  Margaret  had  just 
decided  to  take  several  rolls  of  holland  linen,  in 
order  that  his  hands  might  make  summer  shirts  for 
themselves.  He  left  Olivia  at  the  door  for  a 
moment,  with  Mrs.  Inigo,  while  he  hurried  within. 
His  friend  the  shopman  hurried  up  to  him. 

'  Well,  what  is  it } '  said  Margaret. 

'  The  goods  are  gone  on  board,  sir,'  said  the 
shopman. 

'  Yes  .?     Well }     What  is  it .? ' 

'  I  beg  pardon,  sir.  Don't  wish  to  offend,  sir. 
But  are  you  the  gentleman,  the  gentleman,  the,  er, 
sea-captain.      From  Salcombe,  sir  "^ ' 

'  Yes.     Why  .? ' 

'  Please,  sir,  I  took  the  liberty.  There  was  Mr. 
Russell,  the  magistrate,  and  a  gentleman  from  the 
fort,  sir.  They  came  in  about  you  just  after  you'd 
gone.  They  were  going  to  inquire  about,  about 
the  Salcombe  matter,  sir.' 

'  Yes.     What  did  you  tell  them  } ' 

*  I  said  you'd  gone  to  Penryn,  sir,  about  some 
beer,  sir,  for  your  sailors.' 

'  That  wasn't  strictly  truthful,  was  it  ^  * 
'  No,  sir.     I  suppose  not,  sir.     So  they  went  off 
to  Penryn,  sir.     And  1  told  your  boatmen  to  take 
the  things  aboard,  and  then  wait  for  you  at   the 
docks.' 

'  Where  are  the  docks  } ' 

*  Nearly  a  mile  down  the  harbour,  sir.     Further 

80 


OUTfTARDS 

on  along  the  road  here.     I  beg  your  pardon,  sir, 
but  the  landing-stage  has  soldiers  on  it/ 

'  Thank  you.     Have  they  sent  to  seize  the  ship  }  * 

*  No,  sir.     Oh  no  indeed,  sir.     I  think ' 

*  Why  haven't  they  ?     Did  you  hear  } ' 

*  I  think  I  heard  them  say,  sir,  that  they  had  only 
a  warrant  for — if  I  may  say  so,  as  they  call  it,  for 
you,  sir.' 

'  How  far  is  it  to  Penryn  ^  I  suppose  they'll  be 
back  soon  ^.  ' 

^  Yes,  sir.     They  might  be  back  at  any  moment.* 

'Thanks.  Well.  Show  me  where  the  docks 
are.     Away  to  the  left  here  "^ ' 

'Yes,  sir.  You  can't  miss  them.  If  I  might 
come  with  you,  sir.' 

*  To  the  Spanish  Main  } ' 

'  No,  sir.  I'm  afraid  I  can't.  But  to  the  docks, 
sir.' 

'  Can  you  leave  this  } ' 

'  It's  my  dinner-time,  sir.' 

'  Come  on,  then.  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged 
to  you.  Isn't  this  more  exciting  than  selling  wool- 
len shirts  } ' 

'  Yes,  sir.  Indeed.  But  shirts  are  useful  things, 
sir.' 

'  I  deny  that.  They  are  pernicious  things.  They 
are  always  getting  dirty,  and  then  some  poor  wretch 
with  an  immortal  soul  must  scrub  them  in  hot 
water.  They  are  always  losing  their  buttons,  and 
then  other  poor  wretches  have  to  make  new  ones 
and  sew  them  on  again.  They  are  always  wearing 
out,  and  then  other  poor  wretches  have  to  begin 
the  silly  game  again  by  penning  up  a  few  sheep 
and  cutting  their  wool  away.' 
a  5} 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

By  this  time  they  were  outside  the  door. 

'  Come,  Olivia,'  he  said  carelessly.  *  We  must 
walk  to  the  docks.  You  will  be  tired  to  death 
before  you  get  there.' 

^  Oh  no  I  shan't,'  she  answered.     '  I  love  walk- 

'  Give  me  that  package,'  he  replied. 

*  Now,'  he  continued  to  the  shopman,  ^  walk  as 
though  we  were  seeing  the  sights.  Oh.  Here's  a 
butcher's  shop.  Now  my  captain  would  never 
forgive  me  if  I  came  aboard  without  a  leg  of 
mutton.' 

He  bought  a  leg  of  mutton,  handed  it  to  the 
shopman  to  carry,  and  sauntered  on. 

'  You  must  have  your  jest,  I  see,  sir,'  said  the 
shopman. 

'  Oh  yes,  if  I  swing  for  it,'  replied  the  captain, 
quoting  from  a  popular  broadside,  which  had  con- 
tained the  biography  of  a  pirate. 

'  Hadn't  we  better  walk  a  little  faster,  sir  } '  said 
the  shopman.  He  had  no  desire  to  be  caught ;  he 
was  not  used  to  excitements. 

^  Olivia,'  said  Captain  Margaret,  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  his  new  acquaintance,  but  continuing  to 
saunter  leisurely,  ^  when  we  get  on  board  I  expect 
you'll  find  your  husband  up  and  about.' 

'  Yes,'  she  answered.  '  I  ought  not  to  have  left 
him  for  so  long.     I've  hardly  seen  him  for  days.' 

He  had  spoken  so  that  the  shopman  might  make 
no  allusions  to  the  Salcombe  affair,  casting,  out  a 
reference  to  Stukeley's  crime.  She  had  answered 
with  some  little,  half-acknowledged  wish  to  pique 
him. 

'  To-night,'  said  Margaret,  '  in  the  cabin,  we'll  all 

82 


OUTWARDS 

hold  a  council  of  war  to  decide  our  doings  on  the 
Main.' 

*Yes,'  she  answered.  'And  when  we  get  there  we 
shall  remember  the  council.  Things  will  look  very- 
different  there.* 

'  Here.     You've  been  talking  to  Cammock.' 

*  He's  so  amusing,'  she  answered. 
Sauntering  in   this   way,   talking    nonsense    and 

trifling,  they  arrived  at  the  boat-builder's  creek 
which  then  did  duty  for  a  dock.  Their  boat  lay  off 
at  a  little  distance  ;  the  hands  were  lying  on  their 
oars.  Captain  Margaret  hailed  her  ;  she  put  in. 
He  handed  Olivia  into  the  sternsheets.  Mrs. 
Inigo,  well  used  to  boats  from  her  childhood, 
stepped  into  the  bows.  The  stroke  oar  arranged 
the  parcels  and  placed  the  leg  of  mutton  behind  the 
backboard.  Captain  Margaret  turned  to  the  shop- 
man, and  walked  a  few  steps  with  him  out  of  earshot 
of  the  boat.  He  glanced  up  the  anchorage  to  see  if 
any  armed  boat  was  putting  off. 

*  Don't  wait,  sir,'  said  the  shopman.  '  Lord, 
sir,  think  of  the  risk.  Why  don't  you  go,  sir  ? 
It's  frightfully  dangerous,  sir.' 

'  You  exaggerate  the  risk,'  he  answered  calmly. 
*Well,  you've  done  me  a  good  turn.  Why  did 
you  do  me  a  good  turn  } ' 

*  Oh  sir,  I'm  sure.' 

'  I  shall  often  think  of  you,'  said  Captain  Mar- 
garet.    'Are  you  sure  you  won't  come  with  me.f^' 

*  Oh  no,  sir.  I  couldn't  really  be  persuaded, 
sir.' 

'Well,  think  of  us.' 

'  I  shall  think  of  you  always,  sir.  You  are  a  real 
buccaneer,  sir  ? ' 

83 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*Oh  yes.  Real.  In  my  ship  yonder,  there's  a 
man  who  knew  Morgan.' 

*•  I've  never  had  anything  happen  to  me,  sir, 
before.' 

'  Does  it  make  any  difference  do  you  find  } ' 

'  Oh,  sir.' 

^  Will  you  wear  this  charm  of  mine  to  remember 
me  hyV  He  detached  a  small  gold  jewel,  set  with 
symbolical  stones.  '  It  is  said  to  bring  success  in 
love.     I  don't  believe  it.' 

The  man  took  the  symbol  as  though  it  were  an 
eggshell. 

'  Thank  you,  sir,'  he  said  with  fervour.  *  Thank 
you  very  much,  sir.'  Then  he  started  violently. 
*  Oh,  sir,'  he  cried,  remembering  the  risk,  '  do  go, 
sir.     It's  frightfully  dangerous,  sir.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Margaret,  '  I  mustn't  keep  the  lady 
waiting.  I  hope  you  run  no  risk  yourself;  for 
warning  me  ^ ' 

*Oh  no,  sir.  I  just  showed  a  customer  to  the 
docks.' 

'  And  I'm  very  much  obliged.     Good-bye.' 

*  Good-bye,  sir.  Oh,  sir,  I'm  much  honoured 
indeed,  sir.      I  hope  we  shall  meet  again,  sir.' 

'  Well,  if  we  don't,  we  shall  think  of  each  other, 
shan't  we  ? ' 
'  Oh  yes,  sir.' 

*  And  I  shall  be  on  the  Main,  and  you'll  be  here. 
Here  on  this  spot.' 

'  Often,  sir,  I  suppose  I  shall  be.' 

'Good-bye.   There  is  your  soldier  friend,  I  think.' 

He  nodded  carelessly  towards  the  bend  of  the 

road  ;  then  made  a  half-bow  to  the  shopman,  and 

stepped  into  the  boat. 

84 


OUTPVARDS 

*  Shove  oiF,'  he  said.  *  Back  a  stroke,  port  oars. 
Down  starboard  and  shove  her  off.'  As  he  placed 
the  boat-rug  over  his  knees,  he  heard  the  hoofs 
of  horses  trotting  on  the  road.  *  Give  way  to- 
gether,' he  said  coldly,  as  the  boat  swung  round. 
He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  shopman,  half 
expecting  to  see  the  officers  beside  him.  Then  he 
turned  to  his  boat's  crew.  '  Come.  Shake  her 
up.  Shake  her  up,'  he  said.  '  Rally  her  out.  Give 
way,  now.  Put  your  backs  into  it.  Come  on, 
now.    Toss  her  up.' 

The  stroke  quickened,  the  boat  gathered  way  ; 
she  shot  out  into  the  harbour,  spreading  a  ripple. 
She  was  a  hundred  yards  out,  keeping  a  fine  steady 
stroke,  when  Captain  Margaret  turned  again.  He 
saw  the  figure  of  the  shopman  pointing  towards 
him,  while  a  man  on  horseback  stood  at  his  side 
looking  towards  the  boat.  Another  horseman  was 
galloping  fast  back  to  town,  evidently  to  get  a  boat 
at  the  landing-stage. 

'  They  aren't  very  clever,  these  soldiers,'  he 
thought ;  '  but  I've  had  a  little  luck  to-day.  Or 
was  it  luck  ^  Who  knows  }  It  may  not  have  been 
luck,  after  all.  It  may  have  been  anything  but 
that.' 

He  drew  from  the  stern-locker  a  little  flag  nailed 
to  a  batten.     He  tied  a  knot  in  the  flag. 

'  What  are  you  doing  that  for  } '  said  Olivia,  as 
he  waved  the  '  weft '  in  the  air. 

'  It's  a  signal  to  Cammock,'  he  said,  *  to  get  his 
anchor  up,  and  to  make  sail.  He'll  pick  us  up  on 
his  way  out.     There  goes  his  gun.     He's  seen  us.' 

'  Rather  hurried,  isn't  it  ? '  said  Olivia. 

*  It    makes     the     hands     smart,'     he     answered 

85 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

evasively.     '  I  wonder  if  the  fort  will  salute  us  as 
the  man-of-war  did.' 

'  I  hope  not,'  said  Olivia. 

*  They  very  likely  will,'  he  answered.  *  Come. 
Toss  her  up,  boys.' 

*That  was  a  funny  little  man  from  the  shop,' 
said  Olivia. 

^  Yes,'  he  said.  ^  But  he  told  me  some  interest- 
ing things.    Very  interesting.' 

They  talked  no  more  after  that  till  the  Broken 
Hearty  under  a  cloud  of  canvas,  came  reeling  down 
to  them,  to  back  her  mainyard  within  hail,  and 
hoist  them  all  aboard. 

'  Good-bye,  old  England,'  said  Olivia. 

*  Yes,'  said  Margaret.  '  And  thank  the  Lord 
it  is.' 


86 


IV 

A  CABIN  COUNCIL 

*  Captain  Chilver's  gone  to  sea. 
Ay,  boys,  O,  boys. 
Captain  Chilver's  gone  to  sea 
In  the  brave  "  Benjamin.''^ ' 

Captain  Chilver, 

T^HE  wind  had  gone  down  gradually  all  through 
the  day.  The  morning's  rain  had  kept  down 
the  sea.  When  the  Broken  Heart '  took  her  depar- 
ture '  that  evening,  from  the  distant  Lizard, 
Captain  Cammock  crossed  his  main  royal,  out 
of  lightness  of  heart.  He  had  a  fair  wind  and 
clear  weather.  He  was  thankful  to  have  escaped 
arrest  at  Falmouth.  '  He  was  within  smell  of 
Virginia,'  he  said  ;  so  now  he  would  crack  on  and 
drive  her,  sending  her  lee-ports  under.  The  three 
days  of  storm  had  been  of  use  to  him.  They  had 
shaken  the  hands  into  shape,  and  had  bettered  the 
ship's  trim.  Now,  he  flattered  himself,  he  knew 
what  his  ship  would  do,  and  what  his  men  could 
do.  He  was  ready  for  the  Western  Ocean.  The 
guns  were  housed,  their  breeches  down  on  the 
carriage-beds,  their  tompioned  muzzles  lashed  to 
the  upper  port  sills.  The  light  brass  quarter-deck 
guns  were  covered  with  tarpaulin.  Life-lines  were 
stretched  fore  and  aft  across  the  waist.     Windsails 

87 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

were  set.  There  were  handy-billies  hooked  along 
the  hammock  nettings  ready  for  use.  Forward,  on 
the  fo'c's'le-head,  the  hands  had  gathered  to  dry 
the  clothes  soaked  in  the  storm.  Some  of  the 
hands,  lying  to  windward,  against  the  forward  guns, 
began  to  sing  one  of  their  sea  ballads,  a  dreary  old 
ballad  with  a  chorus,  about  the  bonny  coasts  of 
Barbary.  Old  Mr.  Cottrill  had  the  dogwatch.  The 
other  mate,  Mr.  lies,  a  little  ^  hard  case '  from  the 
James  River,  was  playing  his  fiddle  on  the  booby- 
hatch,  just  abaft  the  main-bitts.  He  sang  a  plain- 
tive ditty  to  the  music  ;  and  though  he  did  not 
sing  well  he  had  listeners  who  thought  his  singing 
beautiful.  Several  of  the  hands,  as  he  knew  very 
well,  were  skulking  as  far  aft  as  they  dared,  to  catch 
his  linked  sweetness  as  it  fell  from  him.  Cocking 
one  leg  over  the  other,  he  began  another  song  with 
a  happy  ending,  no  particular  meaning,  and  a  cer- 
tain blitheness  : — 

I  put  it  up  with  a  country  word. 
Tradoodle. 

*  There,' he  said.  ^  There,  steward.  Gee.  Hey.'' 
I  can  sing  all  right,  all  right.  What's  that  song 
youse  was  singing  .?  You  know.  That  one  about 
the  girl  with  the  wig  ^ ' 

'  Oh,  seh,'  said  the  old  negro,  Mr.  Iles's  chief 
listener.  'Oh,  seh.  I  can't  sing  with  music.  I 
haven't  had  the  occasional  to  do  that,  seh.' 

'  By  gee,  steward,'  said  Mr.  lies,  turning  to  go 
below  to  his  cabin  in  the  'tween-decks,  *  if  you 
can't  sing  to  music,  b'  gee  I  don't  think  you  can 
sing  much.' 

Mr.  Cottrill  turned  to  Captain  Cammock. 


A   CABIN  COUNCIL 

'  A  smart  young  sailor,  sir/  he  said.  '  Mr.  lies 
keeps  'em  going,  sir.' 

'Yes,'  said  Cammock.  'He  knows  a  lot  for  his 
age.  A  smart  young  man,  Mr.  lies,  as  you  say, 
mister.     He  fiddles  pretty,  too.* 

'  I  don't  hold  with  fiddling  in  a  man,'  said  Mr. 
Cottrill.  '  It's  not  natural.  But  it  keeps  the  mind 
employed,  they  say.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Cammock,  '  and  so  does  making  up 
tunes.  Did  you  never  make  up  tunes,  when  you 
was  a  boy,  mister,  walking  the  poop  ? ' 

'  I  come  in  like  a  head  sea,'  said  Mr.  Cottrill. 
'  The  only  times  I  walked  the  poop  was  to  relieve 
the  helm,  or  to  take  in  the  mizen.' 

'  Well.  And  ain't  you  glad  ? '  said  Cammock. 
'  It's  the  only  way  to  learn.' 

'  It  is  that,  sir,'  said  Cottrill.  '  I  guess,  sir,'  he 
added,  '  if  this  wind  holds,  we'll  be  out  of  sight  of 
land  by  dawn.' 

The  boy  reported  eight  bells. 

'  Make  it,'  said  Cottrill. 

The  boy  struck  the  bell  eight  times. 

'  You  boy,'  said  Cammock,  '  when  you  walk  the 
lee  poop  at  night,  you'll  not  go  clump,  clump,  the 
way  you  done  last  night.  There's  a  lady  in 
the  cabin.  Let  me  see  what  boots  you're  wearing. 
I  thought  so.  They're  the  kind  of  boots  would 
wear  a  hole  in  a  wall.  Hold  up  them  soles,  and 
give  us  the  end  of  the  main-brace  there.  There, 
my  son.  I  give  you  the  end  this  time.  You  wear 
them  boots  after  dark  again,  and  you'll  get  the 
bight,  higher  up.' 

The  watch  was  mustered  and  set.  Captain 
Cammock   went   below,   pleased   to  think   that   he 

89 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

had  saved  Olivia  from  the  trouble  of  complain- 
ing about  the  boy. 

He  went  direct  to  the  great  cabin  ;  for  he  knew 
that  there  was  to  be  a  council  of  war.  There  was 
much  to  be  discussed  ;  there  was  much  for  him  to 
tell  them.  He  hoped  very  much  that  his  sea-sick 
friend  Tom  Stukeley  would  be  put  in  a  watch. 
'  And  then,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  you  shall  toe  the 
line.*  In  the  cabin  he  found  Perrin  and  Margaret 
playing  some  simple  card-game  with  Olivia,  for 
counters.  Stukeley  lay  at  half-length  upon  the 
window-seat,  sipping  brandy.  He  was  evidently 
cured  of  his  sickness  ;   though  very  weak  from  it. 

He  looked  up  as  Cammock  entered,  took  a  good 
pull  at  his  drink,  and  called  to  Margaret. 

*  You  were  going  to  have  some  sort  of  parish 
meeting  here.  Here's  the  beadle.  Suppose  you 
begin,  and  get  it  over.' 

He  took  another  pull  at  the  brandy.  *  Take  a 
seat,  beadle,'  he  said  insolently. 

Perrin  and  Margaret  bit  their  lips,  and  slowly, 
almost  fearfully,  lifted  their  eyes  to  Cammock's 
face.  The  old  pirate  had  turned  purple  beneath 
his  copper ;  but  Olivia's  presence  bridled  him.  He 
looked  at  Stukeley  for  a  moment,  then  spun  round 
on  one  heel,  in  the  way  he  had  learned  in  some 
ship's  forecastle,  and  walked  out  of  the  cabin. 

*  I  must  get  my  charts,'  he  said  thickly. 

*  Stukeley,'  said  Margaret  lightly,  *  Captain  Cam- 
mock  is  the  captain  of  this  ship.' 

*  Yes,'  said  Stukeley.  ^  And  I  wish  he  knew  his 
place  as  well  as  I  know  it.' 

'  I  must  ask  you  to  remember  that  he  commands 
here.' 

90 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL 

*  Of  course,*  said  Olivia,  rather  nettled. 

*  I  hope,  Stukeley,'  said  Perrin,  ^  I  hope  you 
won't  quarrel  with  him.  We're  going  a  long 
voyage  together.' 

^  Lord,'  said  Stukeley.  *  What  a  stew  you  two 
make.     You  might  be  two  old  women.' 

*  Tom  dear,'  said  Olivia,  '  is  that  open  window 
too  much  for  you  } ' 

In  the  diversion  caused  by  the  shutting  of  the 
window.  Captain  Cammock  took  his  seat,  laying  a 
book  of  charts  on  the  table  before  him.  '  Now, 
Captain  Margaret,  sir.  Will  you  begin  }  I  don't 
rightly  know  what  it  is  you  want  discussed.' 

'  Very  well,'  said  Margaret.     '  I'll  begin.' 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  looked  first  at 
Olivia,  then  at  Stukeley,  then  at  Cammock,  who, 
he  thought,  looked  very  splendid,  with  his  long 
black  hair  falling  over  his  shoulders,  and  his  grim 
beauty,  like  a  bronze,  thrusting  from  his  scarlet  scarf 

'  I  don't  think  you  know,'  he  said,  '  at  any 
rate,  not  perfectly,  what  it  is  I  intend  doing.  This 
ship  is  mine,  as  I  think  you  all  know.  But  her 
cargo — it's  a  general  cargo,  worth  a  good  deal  of 
money  where  we  are  going  to — is  the  property 
of  several  London  merchants,  who  expect  me  to 
make  a  profit  for  them.  I  want  you  to  get  it  out 
of  your  heads  that  I'm  doing  this  for  love,  either 
of  adventure,  or  of  my  fellow-men.  I  believe  I 
shall  get  adventure,  and  help  my  fellow-men.  But 
the  venture  is,  primarily,  a  business  venture.  If 
the  business  part  fails,  the  whole  thing  will  come  to 
nothing.  As  you  know,  a  part  of  the  cargo  is  con- 
signed to  Virginia,  and  we  go  to  Virginia  direct. 
But  we  shall  only  stay  there  long  enough  to  buy 

91 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

up  the  pick  of  the  tobacco  crop  with  our  goods, 
and  take  in  fresh  water.  Our  real  destination  is 
the  Isthmus  of  Darien.' 

'  What  part  of  the  Isthmus,  sir  ? '  said  Cammock. 

'  You'll  have  to  tell  us  that.  Fill  Captain  Cam- 
mock's  glass,  Perrin.' 

'  Thank  you,  Mr.  Perrin,*  said  Cammock.  He 
bowed  to  Olivia  and  drank.     '  Go  on,  sir.' 

'  You  see,'  continued  Margaret.  ^  Well  I  must 
apologize,  captain.  It  was  part  of  my  arrangement 
with  Captain  Cammock  that  he  should  not  be  told 
about  our  destination,  nor  about  our  plans,  till  we 
had  left  England.  I  need  hardly  say,  captain,  that 
that  was  not,  well,  not  my  desire.  The  merchants 
who  consigned  the  cargo  insisted  on  it.  To  tell 
the  truth,  it  was  only  on  the  pledge  of  secrecy  that 
the  Board  of  Trade  and  Plantations  gave  me  my 
commission.' 

*  Then  you've  got  a  commission,  sir } '  said 
Cammock. 

^Yes.  A  limited  one.  But  still.  Had  our 
plans  been  bruited  abroad,  we  should  have  had  a 
lot  of  opposition.' 

'  Who'd  have  taken  the  sweat  to  lift  a  finger  to 
stop  you  ^ '  said  Stukeley. 

'  The  West  Indian  merchants,'  replied  Margaret. 
'And  the  Chartered  Brazil  Wood  Company,  and 
the  Spanish  ambassador,  among  others,  would  have 
given  us  a  lot  of  opposition.  In  fact,  had  the 
Spaniards  known  of  it,  we  might  have  spared  our- 
selves the  trouble  of  sailing.' 

'  Hear,  hear,  sir,'  said  Cammock  quietly. 

'  Our  friend  the  beadle  knows  his  job,'  said 
Stukeley. 

92 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL 

'  Fill  Captain  Cammock*s  glass,  Edward/ 

'  Fill  mine,  too,  please,  waiter,'  said  Stukeley. 

*  To  continue,'  said  Margaret.  '  Had  the  Span- 
iards known,  we  should  have  found  the  place  of 
our  intended  settlement  in  the  hands  of  Spanish 
troops.' 

'  Settlement } '  said  Stukeley. 

'  Yes.  A  settlement.  To  be  short,  my  plan  is 
to  land  on  the  Isthmus,  found  an  English  colony, 
and  open  up  a  trade,  a  real  trade,  mind  you,  with 
the  Indians  of  Darien.  Now  that  is  the  rough  out- 
line of  the  scheme.  Now,  Captain  Cammock. 
Now  comes  your  part.  I'm  going  to  cross-examine 
you.  You  know  the  Isthmus  thoroughly.  Have 
you  landed  on  the  Main  ^  I  know  you  have,  of 
course.     But  we  must  begin  at  the  beginning.* 

'  I  been  there  a  many  times,  right  along.  Mostly 
looking  for  food,'  said  Cammock. 

^  Did  you  ever  meet  the  Indians  ?  * 

*  I've  been  up  agin  all  kinds  of  Indians.' 

*  Are  there  many  kinds  ? ' 

*  There's  three  kinds.' 

'  Three  .?      What  are  the  three  } ' 

4  don't  mind  telling  you,  sir.  There's  one  kind 
comes  and  says,  "  O  Sieur,"  and  brings  you  these 
great  bananas  and  spears  fish  for  you.  There's 
some  sense  in  them  ones.  Give  'em  a  handful  of 
beads  and  they'll  fill  you  a  pannikin  of  gold  dust. 
They're  getting  spoiled,  of  course,  like  everything 
else.  But  where  they  ain't  been  got  at  they're  good 
still.     That's  one  kind.' 

'  And  the  others  .? ' 

*  There's  another  kind  no  one  seen.  They  say 
they're  white,  this  second  kind.     They  live  in  the 

93 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

woods  ;  in  stone  houses,  too,  for  the  matter  of  that. 
And  they  wear  gold  masks.  No  one  ever  seen  'em, 
mind  you.  But  you  lay  out  in  the  woods  near  'em, 
and  the  first  night  you'll  hear  like  singing  all  round 
you.* 

*  Singing  ? ' 

*  Like  little  birds.  I  never  like  singing  like  what 
that  is.    You  only  get  it  the  first  night.' 

'Oh.  That's  very  curious.  What  happens 
then?' 

'  The  second  night,  if  you  lay  out  in  the  woods, 
you  get  your  'ed  cut  off.  You  find  your  corp  in 
the  morning,  that's  what  you  find.' 

'  Why  do  they  cut  your  head  off.'' '  said  Perrin. 

'  Their  idea  of  fun,  I  s'pose,'  said  Cammock,  with 
a  grin.  *  Come  to  that,  a  corp  is  a  funny  thing 
with  no  'ed.  They  take  the  'eds  and  pickle  them 
after  :  I've  seen  'em.' 

*  What  do  they  do  with  the  heads  ^ '  asked  Perrin, 
*  when  they've  pickled  them  .? ' 

*  They  wear  'em  round  their  necks,  for  ornament,' 
said  Cammock.  '  If  one  of  them  ducks  gets  a 
reglar  necklace,  like  a  dozen  'eds,  he  thinks  he's 
old  Sir  Henry.' 

'  Sir  Henry  } ' 

'  Like  a  Admiral,'  explained  the  buccaneer. 

'  Ah.    And  what's  the  third  kind  ? ' 

'  I  don't  mind  telling  you.  I  was  cruising  one 
time.  I  was  with  an  English  crew,  too.  And 
four  of  our  men  went  ashore  there,  near  Cape 
Codera.  They  didn't  come  back,  so  we  went  to 
look  for  them.  We  found  ashes,  where  a  fire'd 
been.     And  we  found  hands,  lying  in  the  ashes.' 

'  Hands  } '  said  Perrin. 

94 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL 

'  With  fingers  on  them,  some  of  them,'  said  the 
pirate  calmly.  *  Some  of  them  was  ate  all  off.  And 
there  was  a  skull  lying.  And  bits  of  one  man  tied 
to  a  tree.  IVe  never  liked  Indians  from  that  day, 
not  what  you  might  call  to  love  them.* 

^  So  that's  the  third  kind,*  said  Captain  Margaret. 

*  I  take  it  that  these  two  last  kinds  don't  suffer 
much  from  the  Spaniards  }  * 

'  Not  unless  sometimes  they  get  a  tough  one,* 
said  the  pirate,  *  they  don't.' 

'  And  the  other  kind,  the  first  kind  }  * 

'  They're  melancholy  ducks.  No  use  at  all,'  said 
Cammock.  *  Of  course  they  suffer.  It's  a  wonder 
to  me  they  don't  get  it  worse.  They'd  ought  to. 
If  it  rained  soup  they'd  be  going  out  with  forks. 
They  ain't  got  the  sense  we  have,  or  something. 
''  O  Sieur,"  they  say.  The  French  taught  'em  that. 
"O  Sieur."  "Come  and  kick  us,"  that's  what  it 
really  amounts  to.'  He  looked  at  Olivia,  half  fear- 
ing that  she  would  be  shocked. 

'  Could  they  do  anything,  under  a  capable  man, 
do  you  think  .? '  said  Perrin. 

*  We'd  one  with  us  in  the  1'rinityy  said  Cammock. 

*  William  his  name  was.  Yes,  William,  after  my 
poor  brother.  Captain  Sharp  was  capable,  all  right, 
in  his  limits  ;  William  was  capable  too,  I  guess  ;  I 
don't  remember  him  gettin'  it.  Yes.  I  think 
they'd  do.  Ah,  but  they  ain't  got  the  sense.  No, 
I  don't  know  as  they'd  ever  do  very  much.' 

'  Was  your  brother  with  you  in  town  ?  *  asked 
Captain  Margaret.  '  Why  isn't  he  here  with 
you  ? ' 

'  Who  }  Bill .?  No,  sir.  He  died.  Off  of  La 
Serena.     Rum  did  him.     He'd  no  sense  to  drink 

95 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

rum  the  way  he  drank  it.     I  was  sorry  to  lose  Bill. 
I'd  my  fair  share  of  trouble  that  passage.' 

'  Have  some  more  drink,  your  glass  is  empty,' 
said  Perrin. 

'It's  thirsty  work  talking,  as  the  parson  said,' 
answered  the  pirate,  holding  out  his  glass.  He 
looked  at  Perrin  not  unfavourably.  Perrin  mixed 
him  another  punch,  and  brought  out  a  clean  clay 
pipe  from  a  little  locker  to  the  left  of  the  fireplace. 

'  You're  a  thoughtful  young  fellow  to  me,'  said 
Captain  Cammock,  regarding  him  with  favour.  His 
thought  was, 'You'd  make  a  steward, perhaps, boiled 
down  a  bit ' ;  but  this  he  kept  to  himself  '  Was  you 
ever  at  sea  before,  sir  } '  he  asked  politely. 

'  Only  across  the  Channel,'  said  Perrin. 

'  Well,  it's  a  hard  life,'  said  the  pirate.  '  Salue. 
Salue.'  He  jerked  his  head  towards  his  hosts,  and 
gulped  the  liquor.  '  It's  a  hard  life.  Ah.  You  don't 
know  how  hard  it  is,  sitting  here  by  the  fire.'  He 
looked  moodily  into  the  little  bogey  stove,  which 
had  been  lighted  to  air  the  cabin. 

'  What  made  you  take  to  it.  Captain  Cammock,' 
said  Perrin. 

'  Just  a  girl,'  said  the  captain.  '  I  thought  I'd 
make  money  that  way,  so's  we  could  marry.' 

'  Are  you  married,  might  I  ask  ^ '  said  Captain 
Margaret. 

'No,'  he  answered  surlily.    '  No.    A  single  man.' 

He  seemed  upset  by  the  question,  for  he  became 
moody.  He  glared  at  the  fire,  and  drummed  with 
one  foot  against  the  leg  of  his  chair. 

'  Tell  me,'  said  Captain  Margaret.  '  You  don't 
think  that  I  could  do  much  among  the  Indians,  do 
you  } ' 

96 


A   CABIN  COUNCIL 

'  You  mean,  if  you  settled  there  ? ' 

*  Yes,  if  I  landed,  built  a  fort,  and  opened  a 
trading  station.  And  got  the  Indian  chiefs  to 
bring  in  gold,  and  cocoa,  or  whatever  else  there  is.* 

*  You  could  only  do  that  in  among  the  Sam- 
balloes.' 

*  The  islands  along  the  Isthmus  ?  * 
'  Yes.     That's  your  only  place.' 

'  Would  it  be  possible  ?  * 

*  I  dunno  as  it  would.    No,  I  reckon  it  wouldn't.* 
'  Why  not  .?  * 

*  You  couldn't.  The  Dagoes  are  too  strong. 
They'd  send  from  Porto  Bello,  or  they'd  send  over- 
land perhaps,  from  Panama.  They'd  get  yer.  Then 
you'd  have  ginger,  working  on  the  forts  in  Porto- 
bel.  Lot's  of  'em  end  that  way  on  the  Main.  Yes, 
sir,  the  Main's  a  queer  place.' 

'  Queer  .? ' 

*  We  lost  a  boat's  crew  once,  east  there,  by  Tolu 
or  that.  A  handsome  fellow  her  bow  oar  was. 
Bigger'n  you  he  was.  Handsome  Jim  Sanders, 
that  was  him.  He  worked  on  the  forts  in  Portobel. 
We  rescued  him  a  year  later,  quite  by  accident. 
There  was  red  cuts  all  over  him  ;  and  all  he  could 
do  was  sing.' 

'  Sing  .? ' 

'  Just  sing.  This  was  what  he  sung.  He  sung 
all  the  time.  No.  He  didn't  laugh.  He  just 
whined  a  little  and  sang.' 

The  pirate  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whimper  and 

sang — 

*  Tom,  Tom  the  piper's  son 
Learned  to  pipe  when  he  was  young, 
And  all  the  tunes  that  he  could  play 
Was  over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

H  97 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

There's  many  like  handsome  Jim.  Fve  knowed  a 
many  go  that  way.  The  Main's  a  hard  place,  the 
same  as  the  sea  is,  if  you  come  to  that.' 

'  Ahj'  said  Perrin.     '  How  ghastly.' 

Captain  Margaret  said  nothing  ;  for  in  his  lively 
fancy  he  saw  a  half-naked  man,  lying  on  the  deck, 
surrounded  by  pirates,  who  watched  him  with  a 
sort  of  hard  pity.  The  sun  shone  strongly  upon 
the  picture,  so  that  the  brass  cannon  gleamed.  Out 
of  the  wrecked  man's  body  came  a  snatch  of  a 
nursery  rhyme,  with  a  pathetic  tune.  He  felt  the 
horror  of  it ;  he  saw  how  the  pirates  shifted  on  their 
feet  and  looked  at  each  other.  He  was  tempted  to 
ask,  ^  Had  one  of  your  men  a  hare-lip  } '  for  in  the 
picture  which  his  fancy  formed  a  hare-lipped  pirate 
stood  out  strangely,  seemingly  stirred  by  that  horror 
on  the  deck.    *  Fancy,'  he  thought.    '  Pure  fancy.' 

'  Let  me  fill  your  glass,  Cammock,'  he  said.  He 
poured  another  dose  into  the  glass. 

'  Salue,'  said  the  pirate. 

A  red  log,  burned  through,  fell  with  a  crash 
inside  the  stove. 

^  Sparks,'  said  the  pirate.  *  Sparks.  We  give 
the  Dagoes  sparks  for  that  lot,'  He  paused  a 
moment.  ^  Yes,  Captain  Margaret,'  he  went  on. 
'  And  that's  the  way  you'd  best.' 

*  What  way  is  that  ? '  asked  the  captain. 

'  Well.  It's  like  this,'  said  the  captain.  '  Your 
trading  lay — I'm  speaking  as  a  sailor  you  under- 
stand— is  all  Barney's  bull.  It's  got  more  bugs 
than  brains,  as  you  might  say.  But  you  don't 
want  to  go  trading.  What  d'yer  want  to  go 
trading  for }  You'd  only  get  et  by  sand-flies, 
even  if  you  did  make  a  profit.     What  you  want 

98 


A    CABIN  COUNCIL 

to  do.  You  got  a  big  ship.  You*d  easy  get  hands 
enough.  Well,  what  I  say  is,  why  not  go  for  one 
of  the  towns  }  Morgan  done  it.  Sharp  done  it. 
Old  John  Coxon  done  it,  for  I  was  with  him. 
And  the  French  and  Dutch  done  it,  too  ;  don't  I 
know  it.  If  you  come  on  'em  with  a  sort  of 
a  hawky  pounce  you  get  'em  every  time.  Profit, 
too.  There's  twenty  or  thirty  pound  a  man  in  it. 
Besides  ransoms.  There^s  no  work  in  it,  like  in 
trading.  If  you're  trading,  you  got  to  watch  your 
stores,  you  got  to  watch  the  Indians,  you  got  to 
kowtow  to  the  chiefs.  Pah.  It's  a  poor  job, 
trade  is.  It's  not  a  seaman's  job.  But  you  come 
down  on  the  towns.  Why.  Half  your  life.  I 
wish  I'd  been  wise  when  I  was  a  young  man. 
That's  what  I  ought  to  a  done,  'stead  of  logwood 
cutting.' 

'What  towns  would  you  advise,'  said  Captain 
Margaret,  smiling. 

'Well.  Here's  a  map.'  Cammock  opened  his 
book  to  show  a  map  of  the  Terra  Firme  from  La 
Vera  Cruz  to  Trinidad.  '  It's  rough,'  he  explained. 
'  But  it'll  just  show  you.  All  them  red  dots  is 
towns.  And  what  I  say  is,  take  them.  That's  the 
only  way  you'll  help  the  Indians,  as  you  call  it. 
Help  them }  You  won't  help  them  much  when  you 
get  among  them,  I'll  tell  you  that  much.  The 
Main  alters  people.' 

'  Oh,'  said  Margaret  quietly.  '  So  that's  what 
you  think.  Why  do  you  think  that  ?  What 
reason  can  you  give  } ' 

'Well,  take  it  on  military  grounds,  sir,'  said 
Cammock.  '  You'll  have  to  admit  it  on  military 
grounds.' 

99 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Stukeley  pretended  to  choke  with  laughter  ;  it 
was  an  oiFensive  act. 

'  Stukeley's  turning  sick  again/  said  Perrin  dryly. 

'  Well.  On  military  grounds  then,'  said  Mar- 
garet.    ^  I  want  to  hear  your  reason.' 

^  Look,  sir.  Look  at  my  two  fists.  This  right 
fist,  here,  is  Carta- Yaina.  This  left  fist  is  Portobel 
or  La  Vera  Cruz.  Now  these  here  counters.  You'll 
excuse  my  taking  your  counters,  Mrs.  Stukeley. 
These  here  counters  are  the  Samballoes  islands  in 
between.  Now.  On  military  grounds.  Suppose 
I  knock  my  fists  together.  The  counters  get  a 
nasty  jounce.' 

*  1  see,*  said  Margaret.  *  We  should  be  the  nut 
between  two  crackers.' 

'  Yes,  sir.  You  would.  And  take  it  as  a  matter 
of  business.  You'd  be  on  the  trade  route,  or 
jolly  near  it,  between  the  crackers  ;  besides  being 
able  to  flank  the  overland  route  from  Panama  to 
Portobel.  They'd  never  set  still  to  let  you  estab- 
lish yourself  among  them.  Why,  you'd  as  well 
ask  them  to  cut  their  own  throats.  You'd  have  to 
destroy  their  towns  first.  Portobel's  nothing  very 
much.  It's  been  took  twice  within  the  last  few 
years  ;  but  you  can  never  really  settle  Portobel  till 
you  settle  Panama  ;  and  to  do  that  you'd  want  a 
fleet  in  the  South  Sea  to  settle  Lima.  To  make 
yourself  secure.  Quite  secure.  Secure  enough 
for  the  King  of  England  to  back  you  up.  You 
know  what  that  means.  The  enemy  beat,  and  the 
spoils  your  own,  that's  what  makes  King  James 
your  friend.  God  save  him,  I  say,  and  bring  him 
glory.  To  put  yourself  in  that  position,  you'd 
have  to  take  the  two  big  naval  ports  on  the  North 

lOO 


A  CABIN   COUNCIL  " 

Sea,  both  of  them.  Carta- Yaina  and  La  Vera  Cruz. 
For  jabbing  an  enemy^s  no  use  at  all.  A  prick  here 
and  there's  nothing.  Nothing  at  all.  Smash  the 
naval  ports  first,  and  then  the  place  is  your  own. 
Go  for  the  main  stem  and  you'll  get  the  whole  tree. 
Upset  Carta -Yaina  alone,  and  La  Vera  Cruz 
wouldn't  bother  you  very  bad  ;  but  till  Carta- 
Yaina's  yours Well,  honestly,  Captain  Mar- 
garet, you'll  never  be  let  settle  down,  not  on  the 
Isthmus.  But.  I  don't  know  so  much.  It  might. 
I'll  think  it  over.' 

During  Cammock's  speech,  Stukeley  had  made 
occasional  offensive  interruptions  ;  but  he  said 
nothing  when  Cammock  ended.  Olivia,  being 
ignorant  of  the  exact  nature  of  the  question  dis- 
cussed, through  her  ignorance  of  geography,  waited 
for  her  husband  to  speak.  Perrin,  who  had  gone 
into  the  matter  thus  far  with  Margaret,  to  his  own 
boredom,  now  waited,  half  asleep,  for  his  friend  to 
say  something  more.  He  hoped  that  no  one  would 
ask  him  for  an  opinion  that  evening.  He  knew 
nothing  much  about  it,  one  way  or  the  other,  and 
cared  little  ;  believing  only  that  his  friend,  who 
could  do  no  wrong,  would  be  the  man  to  uphold 
against  all  comers.  As  the  active  part  of  him, 
never  very  violent  now,  was  idle  to-night,  he  gave 
himself  up  to  torpor,  keeping  his  mind  a  blank, 
paying  little  attention  to  the  words  of  any  one.  To 
Cammock,  whom  he  liked,  he  was  polite.  Indeed, 
Cammock's  glass  was  seldom  less  than  half-full  all 
through  the  evening.  Now  and  then  he  wished 
that  the  meeting  would  end,  so  that  he  could  turn 
in.  He  lay  back  in  his  chair,  looking  at  the  faces 
of  the  company,  wishing  that  he  had  his  friend's 

lOI 


--"    -  CAFFAIN  MARGARET 

charm,  and  Cammock*s  bodily  strength,  and 
Stukeley's  insolent  carriage.  It  must  be  good,  he 
thought,  to  be  indifferent,  like  that,  to  people's 
feelings.  And  if  he  had  all  three  gifts,  what  would 
he  do  with  it }  He  looked  at  Olivia,  as  she  sat 
there,  upright  in  her  chair,  listening  carefully  to  all 
that  he  said.  '  Yes,'  he  thought,  '  you're  taking  it 
all  in,  all  that  you  understand,  and  thinking  what 
you'll  make  your  husband  do.  And  you're  beau- 
tiful,' he  added  to  himself     4n  that  black  silk,  with 

the  green  about  your  hair,  you're Yes,  Charles 

was  right.     I  never  saw  it  before.     You're  beauti- 

fui;  _ 

'  Olivia,'  he  said  aloud,  '  will  you  let  me  get 
you  a  little  wine  and  some  fruit }  This  must  be  so 
awfully  dull  for  you.' 

'  Oh,  I  like  it,'  she  answered  quickly.    '  1  like  it.' 

^Do  you,  really?'  said  Margaret.  'Well.  We'll 
go  on.     Let  me  see  your  map.  Captain  Cammock.' 

He  took  the  dirty  piece  of  vellum  from  Captain 
Cammock,  and  examined  the  coast-line.  There 
were  manuscript  notes  written  here  and  there  across 
the  Isthmus.  Captain  Margaret  read :  'Don  Andrea's 
Cuntrey.'  '  K  Golden  Cap  went  with  Capt  S  from 
here.'  '  The  Indians  washes  for  Gold  on  this  Side.' 
Mountains  and  forests  had  been  added  to  the  map 
in  water-colours.  A  ship  or  two,  under  all  plain 
sail,  showed  upon  the  seas.  In  among  the  islands 
a  hand  had  added  soundings  and  anchorages  in  red 
ink.  He  looked  among  the  network  of  islands, 
remembering  the  many  stories  he  had  read  of  them, 
fascinated  by  the  thought  that  here,  before  him, 
was  one  who  could  make  that  marked  piece  of 
vellum  significant. 

I02 


A   CABIN  COUNCIL 

^  Tell  me/  he  said.  ^  These  keys  here.  La  Sound's 
Key  and  Springer's  Key.  Are  they  well  known  to 
your  people  } ' 

*  Yes,'  said  the  pirate. 

'  Do  the  Spaniards  ever  search  among  these 
islands  ?     Do  they  send  guarda-costas  ? ' 

'  Not  them.  Not  to  hurt.  They've  no  really 
organized  force  on  the  Main.  Nor've  they  got  any 
charts  to  go  by.  They  aren't  hard  any  longer. 
Only  soft,  the  Spaniards.  Why,  there's  often  a 
matter  of  a  dozen  sail  of  privateers  come  to  them 
keys,  at  the  one  time.' 

'  Why  do  they  come  there  ? ' 

'  Water,  sir.  Then  the  Indians  bring  gold  dust. 
Sometimes  they  land  and  go  for  a  cruise  ashore. 
Lots  of  'em  make  money  that  way,  where  the 
Spaniards  don't  expect  them.' 

'  Have  they  buildings  there  ? ' 

*  No.  When  they  careen  their  ships,  the  Indians 
build  huts  for  them.  Very  nice,  too,  the  huts  are. 
Palmeto  and  that.' 

^  Then  the  Indians  are  friendly  ? ' 

'  Yes.     Sometimes  there's  a  row,  of  course.' 

*  Why  don't  the  privateers  combine,  to  found  a 
kingdom  there  ?     They  could  so  easily.' 

*  They  never  agree  among  'emselves,'  said  the 
pirate.  *  Quarrelsome  ducks.  That's  what  they 
are.' 

'  And  if  a  strong  man  got  hold  of  them  and  made 
them  agree  ? ' 

'Then.  Yes.  Perhaps.  They  might  be  a 
thundering  great  nation.  But  then  there's  the 
Main.  It  changes  people.  It's  hard  to  say.  It's 
different  from  talking  by  the  fire.' 

103 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Well/  said  Captain  Margaret.  *  I  shall  try  it. 
I  believe  it  could  be  done.     And  it's  worth  trying.' 

'  1  believe  you'd  do  it,  if  any  one.  Morgan'd 
'ave  done  it  perhaps.  But  Sir  Henry  was  weak 
you  know.  Rum.  Well,  sir.  If  you  can  do  it. 
You'll  be  in  the  story-books.' 

'  What  is  this  place  here  ^  This  Boca  del  Toro  ^ 
Away  to  the  west  here  }  You  sometimes  meet  here, 
don't  you,  in  order  to  plan  a  raid  .'' ' 

'  Yes,  sir.' 

*  Is  it  a  good  anchorage  }  It  doesn't  seem  to  be 
much  of  a  harbour.' 

*  No,  sir  ;  Toro's  just  an  anchorage,  out  of  the 
way,  like.  We  goes  to  Toro  for  turtle.  Very  good 
turtle  on  Toro.  Them  Mosquito  boys  gets  'em 
with  spears.  You  see  'em  paddle  out,  Mrs.  Stuke- 
ley,  two  of  these  red  Indians  in  a  boat,  and  they 
just  paddle  soft,  paddle  soft,  as  still  as  still,  and 
they  come  up  to  the  turtles  as  they  lie  asleep  in  the 
sea,  and  then.  Whang.  They  dart  their  fizgigs. 
They  never  miss.' 

Olivia  looked  at  Cammock  with  quickened  inter- 
est ;  but  she  did  not  speak.  She  was  now  leaning 
forward,  over  the  table,  resting  her  chin  upon  her 
hands,  probably  with  some  vague  belief  that  her 
throat  was  beautiful  and  that  these  stupid  men 
would  never  notice  it,  She  may  have  been  con- 
scious of  her  power.  Yet  perhaps  she  was  not. 
She  may  have  given  too  much  of  herself  to  Stuke- 
ley  ;  she  may  have  tuned  too  many  of  her  emo- 
tional strings  to  that  one  note,  to  feel  how  other  men 
regarded  her. 

*  Look,  Olivia,'  said  Margaret.  He  placed  the 
map  before  her. 

104 


A   CABIN  COUNCIL 

Perrin  and  Cammock  put  out  each  a  hand,  to 
hold  the  curling  vellum  flat  for  her.  She 
looked  at  the  map  as  a  sibyl  would  have  looked 
at  the  golden  scroll  ;  she  looked  rapt  ;  her  great 
eyes  shone  so.  She  put  out  one  hand  to  flatten 
the  vellum,  and  to  Margaret,  watching  her,  it 
seemed  that  her  whole  nature  was  expressed  in 
that  one  act,  and  that  her  nature  was  beautiful,  too 
beautiful  for  this  world.  Her  finger-tip  touched 
Perrin*s  finger-tip,  for  one  instant,  as  she  smoothed 
the  map's  edge  ;  and  to  Perrin  it  seemed  that  his 
life  would  be  well  passed  in  the  service  of  this 
lady.  She  was,  oh,  wonderfully  beautiful,  he 
thought ;  but  not  like  other  women.  She  was  so 
strange,  so  mysterious,  and  her  voice  thrilled  so. 
In  dreams,  in  those  dreams  of  beauty  which  move 
us  for  days  together,  he  had  seen  that  beauty 
before  ;  she  had  come  to  him,  she  had  saved  him ; 
her  healing  hands  had  raised  him,  bringing  him 
peace.  *  She  says  nothing,'  he  said  to  himself ; 
'  but  life  is  often  like  that.  I  have  talked  with 
people  sometimes  whose  bodies  seemed  to  be 
corpses.  And  all  the  time  they  were  wonderful, 
possessed  of  devils  and  angels.' 

As  for  Cammock,  her  beauty  moved  him,  too ; 
her  voice  moved  him.  In  his  thoughts  he 
called  her  '  my  handsome.'  He  was  moved  by 
her  as  an  old  gardener  is  touched  by  the  beauty 
of  his  master's  child.  His  emotion  was  partly 
awe,  partly  pity.  Pity  for  himself,  partly  ; 
because  he  could  never  now  be  worthy  of  mov- 
ing in  her  company,  although  he  felt  that  he 
would  be  a  better  mate  for  her  than  the  brandy- 
sipper  on  the  locker-top.     She  was  the  most  beau- 

105 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

tiful  thing  he  had  ever  seen;  she  was  like  a  spirit; 
like  a  holy  thing.  Looking  at  her,  as  she  studied 
the  map,  he  thought  of  an  image  in  the  cathedral 
of  Panama.  He  had  been  with  Morgan  in  the 
awful  march  from  Chagres.  He  had  fought  in 
the  morning,  outside  Panama,  till  his  face,  all 
bloody  and  powder-burnt,  was  black  like  a  devil's. 
Then,  he  remembered,  they  had  stormed  old 
Panama,  fighting  in  the  streets,  across  barricades, 
over  tables,  over  broken  chairs,  while  the  women 
fired  from  the  roofs.  Then  they  had  rushed  the 
Plaza,  to  see  the  flames  licking  at  all  the  glorious 
city.  They  had  stormed  a  last  barricade  to  reach 
the  Plaza.  There  had  been  twenty  starving  pirates 
with  him,  all  blind  with  drink  and  rage.  They 
had  made  a  last  rush,  clubbing  and  spearing  and 
shooting,  killing  man,  woman,  and  child.  They 
swore  and  shrieked  as  they  stamped  them  under. 
And  then  he,  with  two  mates,  had  opened  a  postern 
in  the  cathedral,  and  had  passed  in,  from  all  those 
shrieks,  from  all  that  fire  and  blood,  to  an  altar, 
where  an  image  knelt,  full  of  peace,  beautiful  beyond 
words,  in  the  quiet  of  the  holy  place.  He  re- 
membered the  faint  smell  of  incense,  the  memory 
of  a  scent,  which  hung  about  that  holy  place.  The 
vague  scent  which  Olivia  used  reminded  him  of 
it.  ^  She  is  like  that,'  he  thought,  ^and  I  am  that. 
That  still.' 

Margaret  glanced  at  Stukeley,  who  seemed  to  be 
asleep.  '  I  suppose,  captain,'  he  said,  ^  I  suppose, 
then,  that  you  would  recommend  one  of  these  keys 
in  the  Samballoes,  as  you  call  them  } ' 

^  Yes,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  '  Til  tell  you  why. 
You're   handy   for  the    Indians,   that's  one   great 

1 06 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL 

point.  You're  hidden  from  to  seaward,  in  case  the 
Spanish  fleet  should  come  near,  going  to  Porto- 
bello  fair.  YouVe  within  a  week's  march  of  all  the 
big  gold  mines.  You've  good  wood  and  water 
handy.  And  you  could  careen  a  treat,  if  your  ship 
got  foul.     Beside  being  nice  and  central.' 

*  Which  of  these  two  keys  do  you  recommend  ? ' 
'  La  Sound's  Key  is  the  most  frequented,'  an- 
swered Cammock.  '  You  often  have  a  dozen  sloops 
in  at  La  Sound's.  They  careen  there  a  lot.  You 
see  there's  mud  to  lay  your  ship  ashore  on.  And 
very  good  brushwood  if  you  wish  to  give  her  a 
breaming.' 

'  1  see.     And  the  Indians  come  there,  you  say  } ' 
'  Oh  yes,  sir.      There's  an  Indian  village  on  the 

Main  just  opposite.     Full  of  Indians  always.     La 

Sound's  is  an  exchange,  as  you  might  say.' 

^  If  I  went  there,  in  this  big  ship,  should  I  be 

likely  to  get  into  touch  with  the  privateer  captains  ? 

I  mean,  to  make  friends  with  them.' 

*  You'd  meet  them  all  there,  from  time  to  time, 
sir — Coxon,  Tristian,  Yanky  Dutch,  Mackett ;  oh, 
all  of  them.' 

'  All  friends  of  yours  } ' 

'  No,  sir.  Some  of  them  is  French  and  Dutch. 
They  come  from  Tortuga  and  away  east  by  Cura9oa. 
That's  a  point  I  can  tell  you  about.  Don't  you 
make  too  free  with  the  French  and  Dutch,  sir. 
You  stick  by  your  own  countrymen.  I'll  tell  you 
why,  sir.  If  you  let  them  ducks  in  to  share,  the 
first  you'll  know  is  they've  put  in  a  claim  for  their 
own  country.  They'll  say  that  the  settlement  is 
theirs  ;  that  we're  intruding  on  them.  Oh,  they 
will.    I   know   'em.     And   they'll    trick    you,   too. 

I07 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

They'll  get  their  own  men-of-war  to  come  and 
kick  you  out,  like  they  done  at  St.  Kitts,  and  at 
Tortuga.' 

'That  would  hardly  suit.  But  is  La  Sound's 
more  of  a  French  and  Dutch  resort  than  Springer's  ?* 

'Yes,  sir.  Since  Captain  Sharp's  raid.  Ever 
since  that,  we've  been  as  it  were  more  separated. 
And  then  there  was  trouble  at  the  isle  of  Ash  ; 
they  done  us  out  of  a  sloop  ;  so  we  done  them  in 
return.  Springer's  is  the  place  the  Englishmen 
goes  to,  now.  Oh,  and  Golden  Island,  this  easterly 
island  here.  But  Springer's  Key  is  the  best  of 
them.  Though  we  goes  to  La  Sound's  Key,  mind 
you,  whenever  we're  planning  a  raid.' 

'  Then By  the  way.     Who  is  Springer  } ' 

'  He  was  a  privateer,  sir.  He  got  lost  on  the 
Main  one  time.  He  was  in  Alleston's  ship  at  that 
time.  He  got  lost,  out  hunting  for  warree.  He 
wandered  around  in  the  woods  there,  living  on 
sapadilloes,  till  one  day  he  come  to  a  river,  and 
floated  down  it  on  a  log.  He'd  sense  enough  for 
that.  Generally  men  go  mad  in  the  woods  at  the 
end  of  the  first  day.' 

'  Mad,'  said  Olivia.    '  But  why  do  they  do  that.?' 

*  It's  the  loneliness,  Mrs.  Stukeley.  You  seem 
shut  in,  in  those  woods.  Shut  in.  A  great  green 
wall.  It  seems  to  laugh  at  you.  And  you  get 
afraid,  and  then  you  get  thirsty.  Oh,  I've  felt  it. 
You  go  mad.  Lucky  for  you,  you  do,  Mrs. 
Stukeley.' 

'  How  horrible.     Isn't  that  awful,  Charles  } ' 
'  Yes.    Awful.     But  Springer  kept  his  head,  you 
say  ? ' 

*  No,  sir.     I'm  inclined  to  think  Springer  got  a 

xo8 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL 

turn.  The  sun'll  give  it  you.  Or  that  green 
wall  laughing  ;  or  just  thirst.  When  I  talked  with 
Springer,  he  told  me  as  he  come  to  a  little  stone 
city  on  a  hill,  all  grown  over  with  green.  An  old 
ruined  city.  About  a  hundred  houses.  Quite  small. 
And  what  d'you  think  was  in  it,  Mrs.  Stukeley  } ' 

'  I  don't  know  at  all.  Nothing  very  horrible,  I 
hope.     No.     Not  if  it's  going  to  be  horrible.' 

'  Well.  It  was  horrible.  But  there  was  gold  on 
every  one  of  them.  Gold  plates.  Gold  masks. 
And  gold  all  over  the  rooms.  Now  if  that's  true, 
it's  mighty  queer.  But  I  think  he'd  got  a  turn, 
ma'am.  I  don't  think  things  was  right  with 
Springer.  Living  all  alone  in  the  woods,  and  then 
living  all  alone  on  the  key.  It  very  likely  put  him 
off.  I  was  to  have  gone  with  him,  searching  for  it, 
one  time  ;  but  I  never  did.' 

Stukeley  seemed  to  wake  up  suddenly. 

'  You  must  have  been  a  fool,'  he  said. 

*  Why  ?  Acos  I  thought  of  going  ? '  said  Cam- 
mock. 

*"  No.  Because  you  didn't  go.  I  suppose  you 
know  which  river  he  came  down.  And  whereabouts 
he  got  on  the  log  ? ' 

'  Oh  yes,'  said  Cammock ;  ^  better  than  I  know 
you,  Mr.  Stukeley.' 

*  What  d'you  mean,'  said  Stukeley. 

*  Nothing,'  said  Cammock.  '  The  very  last  time 
I  saw  Ed  Springer,  we  talked  it  all  out.  And  he 
told  me  all  he  remembered,  and  we  worked  it  out 
together,  whereabouts  he  must  have  got  to.  You 
see,  Mrs.  Stukeley,  Springer  went  a  long  way.    He 

was  lost And  we  were  going  to  look  for  it 

together.' 

109 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  Why  didn't  you  ? '  said  Stukeley.  '  Were  you 
afraid  ?  * 

*  Yes/  replied  Cammock  curtly  ;  '  I  was.' 
Thinking  that  there  would  be  an  open  quarrel, 

Captain   Margaret   interrupted.      *  And  you   think 
Springer's  Key  would  be  the  best  for  us  ?  * 
'  Yes,  sir.' 

*  Here  is  Springer's  Key  on  the  map.  Come 
here,  Stukeley,  and  just  cast  your  eye  over  it.' 

Stukeley  advanced,  and  put  his  hand  on  Olivia's 
shoulder,  drawing  her  against  him,  as  he  leaned 
over  to  see  the  map.  She  stroked  the  caressing 
hand,  only  conscious  of  the  pleasure  of  her  hus- 
band's caress.  She  had  no  thought  of  what  the 
sight  meant  to  Margaret. 

Perrin  felt  for  his  friend.  *  Put  it  to  the  vote, 
Charles,'  he  said  hastily. 

*  Very  well  then,'  said  Margaret.  'Shall  we  decide 
then  "^     To  go  to  Springer's  Key  } ' 

^s  it  a  pleasant  place .f^'  said  Olivia.  'Don't, 
Tom.'     She  gave  the  hand  a  little  slap. 

'Very  pleasant,  Mrs.  Stukeley,  A  island  with 
huge  big  cedars  on  it — aromatic  cedars — as  red  as 
blood ;  and  all  green  parrots.  Wells.  Good  drink- 
ing wells.  Wonderful  flowers.  If  you're  fond  of 
flowers,  ma'am.' 

'  What  sorts  are  they  ? ' 

'Arnotto  roses,  and  yellow  violet  trees.  Oh, 
lots  of  them.' 

'  Oh,  then.  Springer's  Key,  certainly.' 

'  Springer's  Key,'  said  Stukeley  and  Perrin. 

'The  ayes  have  it.' 

'  Very  well,  then,'  said  Margaret.  '  We'll  decide 
for  Springer's  Key.' 

no 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL 

'  One  other  thing,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  '  There's 
the  difficulty  about  men.  WeVe  forty-five  men  in 
the  ship  here,  mustering  boys  and  idlers.  And 
that's  not  enough.  It's  not  enough  to  attract 
allies.  Of  course,  1  quite  see,  if  you'd  shipped 
more  in  London,  in  a  ship  of  this  size,  it  would 
have  looked  odd.  It  might  have  attracted  notice. 
The  Spaniards  watch  the  Pool  a  sight  more'n  you 
think.  But  you  want  more.  And  you  want  choice 
weapons  for  them.'  He  paused  for  a  second  to 
watch  Captain  Margaret's  face,  then,  seeing  no 
change  upon  it,  continued,  4  know  you  got  twenty 
long  brass  eighteens  among  the  ballast.' 

^  How  did  you  know  that } '  said  Margaret. 

'  Well,  you  have,  sir,'  said  Cammock,  grinning, 
'  and  small-arms  in  proportion.  You  can  fortify 
Springer's  with  a  third  of  that  lot.  Now  you  want 
another  forty  or  fifty  men,  at  least,  and  then  you'll 
be  boss  dog.  Every  privateer  captain  will  come 
saying  "  Oh,  massa  "  to  you.' 

*  Yes,'  said  Perrin.  *  It  seems  to  me  that  there'll 
be  a  difficulty  in  getting  men.  You  see  we  want 
really  a  drilled  force.' 

*  No  difficulty  about  men  in  Virginia,  sir.  Lots 
of  good  men,  regular  old  standards,  tough  as 
hickory,  at  Accomac,  and  along  the  James  River.' 

^  What  do  they  do  there  } '  said  Perrin. 

*Lots  of  'em  come  there,'  said  Cammock  eva- 
sively. ^  They  tobacco  plants,  and  they  trap  them 
things  with  fur  on,  and  some  on  'em  fishes.  Lots 
of  'em  come  there.' 

^ Where  from  .'''asked  Captain  Margaret  pointedly. 

'  Most  everywhere,'  said  Cammock,  looking  on 
the  deck. 

Ill 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  Campeachy  ?  *  said  the  captain. 

'  Most  everywhere,  sir,'  repeated  Cammock. 

'  Writs  hard  to  serve  there  ?  ' 

'  Every  one  has  his  misfortunes,'  said  Cammock 
hotly.  '  But  they're  a  better  lot  there  than  you'd 
get  anywhere  in  the  islands,  let  me  tell  you  that. 
I've  known  a  power  of  men  among  them,  fine  men. 
They  might  be  a  bit  rough  and  that  ;  but  they  do 
stand  by  a  fellow.' 

*  Yes,'  said  Captain  Margaret,  *  I  dare  say.  But 
I  don't  want  them  to  stand  by  a  fellow.  I  want 
them  to  stand  by  an  idea.' 

*  They'll  stand  by  anything  so  long  as  you've  a 
commission,'  said  Captain  Cammock. 

'  And  obey  orders  1 ' 

'  Now,  sir.  In  England,  everybody  knuckles 
down  to  squires  and  lords.  But  among  the  pri- 
vateers there  aren't  any  squires  and  lords.  Nor 
in  Virginia,  where  the  old  privateers  tobacco  plants. 
A  man  stands  by  what  he  is  in  himself.  If  you 
can  persuade  the  privateers  that  you're  a  better 
man  than  their  captains  ;  and  some  of  them  are 
clever  generals,  mind.  They've  been  fighting 
Spaniards  all  their  lives.  Well.  You  persuade 
'em  that  you're  a  better  man.  You  show  'em 
that.  And  they'll  be  your  partners.  As  for 
hands  in  the  ship  here,  and  ship's  discipline.  They 
aren't  particularly  good  at  being  ordered  about. 
They're  accustomed  to  being  free,  and  having 
their  share  in  the  councils.  But  you  give  them 
some  little  success  on  the  Main,  and  you'll  find 
they'll  follow  you  anywhere.  You  give  out  that 
you're  going  against  Tolu,  say.  You  take  Tolu, 
say,  and  give  'em  ten  pound  a  man.' 

112 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL 

'  Then  they'll  want  to  go  ashore  to  spend  it.* 

'  Not  if  you  give  'em  a  dice-box  or  two.  You 
won't  be  able  to  wage  them,  like  you  wage  hands, 
at  sixteen  shillen  a  month.' 

Olivia,  who  seemed  disconcerted  at  the  thought 
of  sitting  down  at  a  council  with  a  crowd  of  ragged 
sailors,  now  asked  if  it  would  not  be  possible  to 
wage  them,  if  they  explained  the  circumstances. 

'  You  say  they  are  tobacco-planting  in  Virginia. 
Why  should  they  not  plant  on  the  Main  and 
supply  all  the  ships  which  come  to  us,  besides 
fighting  the  Spaniards  when  the  crops  are  grow- 

ing?' 

'  That's    what   you    must   do,'    said    Cammock. 

'  Get  the  steadiest  men  you  can.  Plant  your  crops, 
when  you've  cleared  a  patch  of  ground.  Hit  the 
Spaniards  hard  at  the  first  try.  That'll  bring  all 
the  privateers  to  you.  Hit  'em  again  hard  at  a 
bigger  port ;  and  I  do  believe,  sir,  you'll  have  two 
or  three  thousand  skilled  troops  flocking  to  you. 
Old  Mansvelt,  the  old  Dutchman.  You  know 
who  I  mean.  He  tried  to  do  what  you  are  try- 
ing. That  was  at  Santa  Katalina.  But  he  died, 
and  Morgan  had  to  do  it  all  over  again.  Then 
Morgan  had  his  chance.  He'd  fifteen  hundred 
men  and  a  lot  of  ships.  He'd  taken  Chagres  and 
Porto  Bello.  He  had  the  whole  thing  in  his 
hands.  With  all  the  spoil  of  Panama  to  back 
him  up.  The  Isthmus  was  ours,  sir.  The  whole 
of  Spanish  America  was  in  that  man's  hands.  But 
no.  Come-day-go-day.  He  went  off  and  got 
drunk  in  Port  Royal ;  got  a  chill  the  first  week ; 
got  laid  up  for  a  time  ;  then,  when  he  did  get 
better,  he  entered  Jamaica  politics.  The  new 
I  113 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

governor  kept  him  squared.  The  new  governor 
was  afraid  of  him.  But  what  he  done  you  can 
do.  You  have  a  little  success,  and  make  a  name 
for  yourself,  and  you'll  have  a  thousand  men  in 
no  time.  That's  enough  to  drive  the  Spaniards 
off  the  North  Sea.  When  you've  driven  'em  all  off, 
the  King'll  step  in.  The  King  of  England,  I 
mean.  He'll  knight  you,  and  give  you  a  bottle- 
washing  job  alongside  his  kitchen  sink.  Your 
settlement  '11  be  given  to  one  of  these  Sirs  in 
Jamaica.     There,  sir.     I  wish  you  luck.' 

The  meeting  was  now  broken  up.  Perrin 
brought  from  his  cabin  a  box  of  West  Indian 
conserves  and  a  packet  of  the  famous  Peru- 
vian sweetmeats.  He  offered  them  to  Olivia,  then 
to  all  the  company.  The  steward  brought  round 
wine  and  strong  waters.  Mrs.  Inigo,  passing 
through  the  cabin  with  a  curtsey,  left  hot  water 
in  Olivia's  state-room.  She  wore  a  black  gown 
and  white  cap.  She  looked  very  handsome.  She 
walked  with  the  grace  of  the  Cornish  women. 
She  reminded  Captain  Cammock  of  the  Peruvian 
ladies  whom  he  had  captured  before  Arica  battle. 
They,  too,  had  worn  black,  and  had  walked  like 
queens.  He  remembered  how  frightened  they 
had  been,  when  they  were  first  brought  aboard 
from  the  prize.  Olivia  followed  Mrs.  Inigo  into 
the  state-room.  '  I  must  just  see  if  she's  got  every- 
thing she  wants,'  she  murmured.  She  remained 
in  the  state-room  for  a  few  minutes  talking  with 
Mrs.  Inigo.  Perrin  noticed  that  Stukeley  looked 
very  hard  at  Mrs.  Inigo  as  she  passed  through 
with  the  jug.  He  decided  that  Stukeley  would 
need  watching. 

114 


A  CABIN  COUNCIL 

*  Where  are  you  putting  her  ? '  said  Stukeley. 

'Who?  Mrs.  Inigo?'  said  Margaret.  'Along 
the  alleyway,  to  the  starboard,  in  the  big  cabin 
which  was  once  the  sail-room.' 

'  1  see,*  said  Stukeley. 

'  By  the  way,  Stukeley,*  said  Margaret.  '  Now 
that  you've  got  over  your  sickness,  would  you  like 
to  be  one  of  us  ^  And  will  you  stand  a  watch  ? 
I'm  going  to  stand  two  watches  a  day  with  the 
mate's  watch,  and  Edward  here  will  do  the  same 
with  the  starboard  watch.' 

'  I'll  think  it  over,'  said  Stukeley,  evidently  not 
much  pleased.  '  I'll  think  it  over.  I  think  I've 
listened  to  enough  jaw  for  one  night.  I'm  going 
to  turn  in.' 

Margaret,  quick  to  save  Olivia  from  something 
which  he  thought  might  annoy  her,  made  a  neat 
parry.  '  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Stukeley.  Come  on 
deck  for  a  blow  ;  then  we'll  have  a  glass  of  punch 
apiece.' 

'  Come  on,'  said  Perrin,  attempting,  with  an  ill 
grace,  the  manner  of  a  jovial  schoolboy.  '  Come 
on,  my  son.    Catch  hold  of  his  other  arm,  Charles.' 

As  he  seized  Stukeley's  arm  to  give  him  a  heave, 
Stukeley  poked  him  in  the  wind,  and  tripped  him 
as  he  stepped  backward.  'What're  you  sitting 
down  for  } '  he  said,  with  a  rough  laugh. 

Perrin  was  up  in  a  second.  He  seized  a  heavy 
decanter,  and  hove  it  into  Stukeley's  face.  Stukeley 
in  guarding  the  blow  received  a  sharp  crack  upon 
the  elbow.  Margaret  and  Cammock  pulled  Perrin 
aside,  under  a  heavy  fire  of  curses. 

'  What  d'ye  mean  by  losing  your  temper.?  Hey.?' 
said  Stukeley. 

"5 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Margaret  drew  Perrin  out  of  the  cabin.  '  Good 
night,  Stukeley,'  he  said  as  he  passed  the  door. 

He  left  Cammock  standing  by  his  chair,  looking 
into  Stukeley's  face.  There  was  a  pause  for  a 
moment. 

Then  Stukeley  began  with,  ^That  damned  old 
woman  nearly  broke  my  elbow.  If  he's  a  friend 
of  yours ' 

*  He  is,*  said  Cammock. 

*  Oh,  so  youVe  another  of  them.  Well.  Lord. 
You  make  a  queer  crew.     Do  you  know  that  } ' 

Cammock  did  not  answer,  but  remained  stand- 
ing, like  a  figure  of  bronze,  staring  into  Stukeley's 
face.  For  fully  a  minute  he  stood  there  silently. 
Then  he  spun  round  swiftly,  in  his  usual  way, 
giving  a  little  whistle.  He  paused  at  the  door  to 
stare  at  Stukeley  again. 

*  Fm  glad  you  admire  my  beauty,'  said  Stukeley. 
'  You're  not  much  used  to  seeing  gentlemen,  are 
you  ? ' 

Still  Cammock  did  not  answer.  At  last  he  spat 
through  the  half-opened  gun-port.  '  My  God,'  he 
said.  Then  he  walked  out  on  deck,  leaving  Stuke- 
ley rubbing  his  elbow  ;  but  softly  chuckling,  think- 
ing he  had  won  the  field. 


ii6 


V 

STUKELET 

*Thus  can  my  love  excuse  the  slew  offence/ 

Sonnet  It. 
*  I  can  endure 
All  this.     Good  Gods  a  blow  I  can  endure. 
But  stay  not,  lest  thou  draw  a  timeless  death 
Upon  thyself/  ^^^  ^^.^,^  Tragedy. 

/^NE  morning,  about  six  weeks  later,  when  the 
Broken  Heart  was  near  her  port  of  call,  Cap- 
tain Margaret  sat  at  the  cabin  table,  with  a  book  of 
logarithms  beside  him,  a  chart  before  him,  and  a 
form  for  a  ship's  day's  work,  neatly  ruled,  lying 
upon  the  chart.  He  made  a  faint  pencil-line  upon 
the  chart,  to  show  the  ship's  position  by  dead- 
reckoning.  Then,  with  a  pair  of  compasses,  he 
made  a  rough  measurement  of  the  distance  still 
to  run.  Stukeley,  lying  at  length  upon  the  locker- 
top,  watched  him  with  contempt. 

The  Broken  Heart  had  had  a  fair  summer  passage, 
with  no  severe  weather.  She  had  spoken  with  no 
ships  since  leaving  Falmouth.  Her  little  company 
of  souls  had  been  thrown  upon  themselves,  and  the 
six  weeks  of  close  association  had  tried  their  nerves. 
There  were  tense  nerves  among  the  afterguard,  on 
that  sunny  morning,  just  off  Soundings. 

*  Where  are  we  ?'  Stukeley  asked. 
117 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

■    *  Just  ofF  Soundings,*  said  Margaret. 

*  Where  the  blazes  is  that  ?* 

'About  four  hundred  miles  to  the  east  of 
Accomac* 

*  How  soon  shall  we  get  to  Accomac  ?' 

*  A  week,  perhaps.     It  depends  on  the  wind.' 

*  And  then  we'll  get  ashore  ? ' 
*Yes.     If  you  think  it  safe.' 

*  What  the  devil  d'you  mean  } ' 

Captain  Margaret  sat  back  in  his  chair  and 
looked  at  Stukeley  as  an  artist  looks  at  his  model. 
Many  small,  inconsidered,  personal  acts  are  revela- 
tions of  the  entire  character  ;  the  walk,  the  smile, 
the  sudden  lifting  of  the  head  or  hand,  are  enough, 
to  the  imaginative  person.  So,  now,  was  Captain 
Margaret's  look  a  revelation.  One  had  but  to  see 
him,  to  know  the  truth  of  Perrin's  epigram.  Perrin 
had  called  him  '  a  Quixote  turned  critic'  He 
looked  at  Stukeley  as  though  he  were  above  human 
anger  ;  his  look  was  almost  wistful,  but  intense. 
He  summed  up  the  man's  character  to  himself, 
weighing  each  point  with  a  shrewd,  bitter  clearness. 
His  thought  was  of  himself  as  a  boy,  pinning 
the  newly  killed  moth  upon  the  setting-board. 

'  Look  here,'  said  Stukeley. 

'  Do  you  think  it  safe  V 

Stukeley  rose  from  the  locker  and  advanced 
across  the  cabin. 

'  So  little  Maggy's  going  to  preach,  is  he  ?'  he 
said  lightly.  '  Let  me  recommend  little  Maggy  to 
keep  on  his  own  side  of  the  fence.*' 

Margaret  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  seemed  to 
him  to  be  the  most  offensive  thing  he  could  do,  in 
the  circumstances. 

ii8 


STUKELET 

^  Supposing  that  it's  not  safe  ?' 
Stukeley  laughed,  and  returned  to  the  locker. 
He  pulled  out  a  pipe  and  began  to  fill  it. 

*  Maggy/  he  said,  'why  don't  you  get  married  ?* 
'  My  destiny.' 

*  Marriage  goes  by  destiny.     Eh  ?' 

*  Marriage.     And  hanging,  Stukeley.' 

That  brought  him  from  the  locker  again.  '  What 
the  hell  d'you  mean  by  that  ?' 

*  Oh,'  said  Margaret.  '  It's  safe  in  Accomac,  I 
should  think.' 

'  What  is  ? ' 

'  The     evil-doer,    Stukeley.      The    cheat,     the 

ravisher,  the But    I   don't   think   you    ever 

committed  a  murder.  Not  what  is  called  murder 
by  a  jury.' 

*  Ah.  You  cast  that  at  me,'  said  Stukeley.  *  Re- 
collect now,  Maggy.  That's  enough.  I'd  be  sorry 
to  hit  you.' 

'Would  you?'  said  Margaret.  'Well.  Per- 
haps. But  if  it's  not  safe,  Stukeley,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  } ' 

'  Stay  here,  little  Maggy.  Oh,  ducky,  you  are  so 
charming.  I  shall  stay  on  board  with  my  own 
little  Maggy.' 

'You'd  better  remember  my  name  when  you 
speak  again,  Stukeley.  I  take  no  liberties  from  a 
forger.' 

'  Have  you  been  reading  my  papers  ?  In  my 
cabin  ? ' 

'  It  was  forgery,  wasn't  it  ? ' 

'  Is  it  any  business  of  yours  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  How  ? ' 

119 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  Because,  Stukeley,  I  may  have  to  see  the 
Governor  about  you.  I  may  be  asked  about  you 
when  you  land.  I  may  even  have  to  hand  you 
over  to — wellj  disgrace.' 

^  Rot.     How  the  hell  will  the  Governor  know  } 
Don't  talk  nonsense.' 
'  Then  it  was  forgery  } ' 

*  Certainly  no  damn  maggot  like  you'll  call  it 
anything.     No  man  alive.' 

'  But  supposing  they  try  you,  my  friend.  Eh  } 
Suppose,  when  we  land,  when  we  anchor,  you 
are  taken  and  sent  home.  What  would  a  jury 
call  it.?' 

'  We're  not  in  Falmouth  harbour  now.  Nor  in 
Salcombe.' 

Just  at  this  moment  Captain  Cammock  entered, 
whistling  a  tune  through  his  teeth.  He  glanced  at 
both  men,  with  some  suspicion  of  their  occupation. 
^  Come  for   the   deep-sea  lead-line,'   he  explained. 

*  We'll  be  in  soundings  by  to-night.  Getting  on 
nice,  ain't  we  } '  He  opened  one  of  the  lockers 
and  took  out  the  lead-line.  *  You'd  ought  to  come 
on  deck,  sir,  to-night,  to  see  how  this  is  done.  It's 
a  queer  sight,'  he  said.  *  I'm  off  to  the  cook  now, 
to  get  a  bit  of  tallow  for  the  arming.' 

'  Stop  just  a  moment,  captain,'  said  Margaret. 

*  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  How  often  do 
letters  go  to  Virginia,  from  London  } ' 

*  I  suppose  about  twice  a  week,  now  there's  no 
war.  Almost  every  day,  in  the  summer,  you 
might  say.     Yes.     They're  always  going.' 

'  Have  we  made  a  good  passage  ^ ' 
'  Nothing  extra.     It's  been  done  in  five  weeks  by 
the  baccalao  schooners.     Less.' 

1 20 


STUKELET 

*The  baccalao  schooners.  TheyVe  the  cod-boats  ? 
Are  they  very  fast  ?  * 

'  Oh,  beauties.     But  ain*t  they  wet.* 

'Then  we  might  find  letters  waiting  when  we 
arrive  }  * 

'  Very  likely,  sir.  I  was  going  to  speak  to  you 
about  that.'     He  looked  with  meaning  at  Stukeley. 

'  What  are  you  looking  at  me  like  that  for  } '  said 
Stukeley. 

'  You  might  have  letters  waiting,  too,*  said  Cam- 
mock.  '  Society  invitations  and  that.*  He  glanced 
up  at  the  skylight  as  he  spoke,  and  then  watched 
Stukeley *s  face  to  note  the  effect  of  his  words. 
Stukeley  turned  pale. 

'  Stukeley,'  said  Margaret,  '  don't  you  think  you 
ought  to  tell  your  wife  ? ' 

'Will  you  please  mind  your  own  business, 
Maggy.     She's  my  wife,  not  yours.' 

'  Then  I  shall  tell  her.     Shall  I  ? ' 

'  Tell  her  what .? ' 

'  I'm  going  on  deck,'  said  Cammock.  '  You 
come  on  deck,  sir,  too.'  He  passed  out  of  the 
cabin,  carrying  his  heavy  lead.  He  paused  at  the 
door  for  a  moment  to  ask  his  friend  again.  '  Come 
and  see  how  it's  done,  sir,'  he  said.  He  got  no 
instant  answer,  so  he  passed  out,  wondering  how  it 
would  end.  '  It's  none  of  my  job,'  he  said  sadly. 
'  But  I'd  give  a  deal  just  to  hit  him  once.  Once. 
He'd  have  a  thick  ear  to  show.' 

'  Tell  her  what } '  repeated  Stukeley,  as  the  door 
closed. 

'  That  you  may  be  arrested  as  soon  as  we  arrive. 
That  the  case  may  go  against  you.' 

'  You  would  tell  her,  would  you  } ' 

121 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  She  ought  to  know.     Surely  you  can  see  that. 
Shall  I  tell  her  .? ' 
*You?* 
'Yes.' 

*  You've  got You  lowsy.     You'd  like  to, 

wouldn't  you  } ' 

*  1  should  very  much  like  to,  Stukeley.' 

*  I  don't  doubt.    And  you're  the  one That's 

like  you  poets.  You're  a  mangy  lot,  Maggy.  I  see 
you  so  plainly,  Maggy,  telling  my  wife.  Like  a 
cat  making  love.  In  the  twilight.  Oh,  I've  seen 
you.' 

'  Go  on,  Stukeley.' 

*  You  come  crawling  round  my  wife.  I've  seen 
you  look  at  her.  I've  seen  you  shake  hands  with 
her.  I've  seen  your  eyes.  Doesn't  she  make  your 
mouth  water  }  Wouldn't  you  like  that  hair  all 
over  your  face  ?  Eh  .''  Eh  ?  And  her  arms  round 
you.     Eh  ? ' 

'Stukeley,'  said  Margaret,  'I'd  advise  you  to 
stop.     Stop  now.' 

'Wouldn't  you  like  to .?' 

'  Stop.' 

'  I  know  you  would.  Poems,  eh  ?  I've  read  a 
lot  of  your  poems  to  her,  Maggy.' 

'  Were  you  looking  for  my  purse  } ' 

'  No,  Maggy.  But  I  thought  you  needed  watch- 
ing. I  don't  want  any  mangy  poet  crawling  round 
my  wife.     So  I  just  watched  you,  Maggy.' 

'Yes.?' 

'Oh  yes.  I  don't  think  you've  succeeded  yet, 
Maggy.     Even  in  spite  of  your  poems.' 

'  Stukeley,'  said  Margaret,  rising  from  his  chair, 
'  when  we  get  to  Accomac  you  will  come  ashore 

122 


STUKELET 

with  me.  I'll  do  my  best,  when  we're  ashore,  to 
put  my  sword  ' — he  advanced  to  Stukeley,  bent 
swiftly  over  him,  and  touched  him  sharply  on 
the  Adam's  apple — *just  there,  Stukeley.  Right 
through.     To  save  the  hangman  the  trouble.' 

Stukeley  watched  him  with  amused  contempt ; 
he  laughed.  '  Maggy's  in  a  paddy,'  he  said. 
'No,  Maggy.  I'm  a  married  man,  now,  ducky. 
I've  gone  into  the  stud.  What  would  my  wife  do 
if  she  woke  up  one  fine  morning  and  found  me 
gone  }     Eh  ? ' 

'  Are  you  afraid  to  fight  ?  * 

*  Afraid  of  a  little  crawling  maggot  who  comes 
whining  out  some  measly  poems  } ' 

Margaret  took  a  quick  step  forward,  and  shot 
out  a  hand  to  seize  Stukeley  by  the  throat.  Stukeley 
caught  him  by  the  wrist. 

*  Look  here,  Maggy,'  he  said. 

*  Drop  my  wrist.     Drop  it.* 
'  Take  your  dirty  wrist.' 

*  Take  back  what  you  said.' 

'  You  do  amuse  me,  Maggy.* 

*  Take  it  back.' 

'  You  ought  to  have  been  a  woman.  Then  you 
could  have  married  that  damned  fool  Perrin.  And 
you  could  have ' 

« You ' 

'  Ah  no,  ah  no.     No  blows,  Maggy.* 

'  Take  back  what  you  said.' 

*  That  I  was  afraid  ? ' 

'  You'd  better,  Stukeley.* 

'  Did  I  say  that  I  was  afraid  ?  I'm  not,  you 
know.     It's  you  who  are  afraid.' 

*  You'll  see.' 

123 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  I  shall  see.  You  are  afraid.  You're  in  love 
with  Olivia,  ducky.  D*ye  think  you're  going  to 
fight  me }  Not  Maggy.  You'd  like  me  away, 
wouldn't  you,  Maggy.  Then  perhaps  she'd.  She's 
an  awful  fool  when  you  come  to  know  her,  Maggy. 
To  know  her  as  I  know  her.  She  might  be  fool 
enough  to.  And  then.  Oh.  Bliss,  eh  ?  Bliss. 
Morning,  noon,  and  night.     Eh  } ' 

'  Stukeley,  I've  stood  a  good  deal ' 

'Yes,  ducky.  But  don't  be  so  excited.  You 
won't  fight  me.  You'll  be  afraid.  You'll  lick  my 
boots,  like  you've  done  all  the  time,  so  as  to  get  a 
sweet  smile  from  her.  Doesn't  she  smile  sweetly, 
my  little  Maggy  }  You'll  lick  my  boots,  Maggy. 
And  hers.  Lick,  lick,  lick,  like  a  little  crawling 
cat.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  lick  her  hand,  Maggy  .'' 
Her  fingers  }  Don't  go,  Maggy.  I'm  just  begin- 
ning to  love  you.' 

*  We'll  go  gn  with  this  at  Accomac,  Stukeley.' 
*We  shan't  fight,   Maggy.     If  you   killed  me, 

she'd  never  marry  you.  Besides.  It  would  kill  her, 
Maggy.  She  loves  me.  She  wants  a  man,  not  a 
little  licking  cat.  You're  content  to  spend  your 
days  licking.  My  God  ;  you'd  die,  I  believe,  if  you 
couldn't  come  crawling  round  her,  sighing,  and 
longing  to  kiss  her.  That's  your  life.  Well.  Kill 
me.  You'll  never  see  her  again.  Then  what 
would  the  little  crawler  do  ?  Go  and  put  his  arms 
round  Perrin  1  But  d'you  know  what  I  should 
tell  Olivia  before  going  out  with  you  V 
'  What  would  you  tell  her  ?' 

*  I'd  tell  her  that  I  suspected  you  of  making  love 
to  her.  Eh  }  That  you  admitted  it,  and  that  I 
gave  you  this  chance  of  satisfaction  out  of  con- 

124 


STUKELET 

sideration,  instead  of  thrashing  you.  So  any  way 
I've  the  whip  hand,  Maggy.  She'd  never  look  at 
you  again,  and  you  can't  live  without  her.  Can 
you  r 

^Anything  else  V 

*  Just  this.  You'll  never  see  her  again  if — if  any- 
thing happens  at  Accomac.  Through  the  Governor, 
you  know.  We  should  go  home  together.  And 
the  shock,  eh  .?  Loving  husband  hanged,  eh  }  So 
take  it  from  one  who  loves  little  Maggy,  that  you 
aren't  going  to  fight  me,  and  that  for  all  your  gush 
you'll  help  me  in  Accomac  in  case  there's  trouble. 
And  Olivia  shall  let  you  kiss  her  hand,  shall  she. 
Or  no,  you  shall  have  a  shoe  of  hers  to  slobber 
over,  or  a  glove.  Now  go  on  deck,  Maggy,  and 
cool  your  angry  little  brow.  A  little  of  you  goes  a 
long  way,  Maggy.  That's  what  Olivia  told  me 
one  night.' 

He  stopped  speaking  ;  for  Margaret  had  left  the 
cabin.  *  I  wonder  where  he's  gone,'  Stukeley  mut- 
tered, smiling.  Through  the  half-shut  door  he 
could  see  Margaret  entering  the  cabin  which  he 
shared  with  Perrin.  '  What  a  rotter  he  is,'  he 
thought.  '  I  suppose  now  he'll  have  a  good  cry. 
Or  tell  it  all  to  that  dead  frog,  Perrin.'  For  a 
moment,  he  thought  that  he  would  go  on  deck  to 
walk  with  Perrin,  not  because  he  wanted  to  see  the 
man,  but  because,  by  going  on  deck,  he  would  keep 
both  Perrin  and  the  captain  from  talking  to  Olivia, 
who  was  mat-making  on  the  poop,  amid  a  litter  of 
coloured  silks.  He  thought  with  some  disgust  of 
Olivia.  So  that  he  might  not  be  reminded  of  her, 
he  drew  the  sun-screen  across  the  skylight,  shut- 
ting out  the  day.     *  Oh  Lord,'  he  said,  yawning. 

125 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  I  wish  I  was  back  in  the  inn  with  that  girl,  Jessie. 
She  was  some  fun.  Olivia  gets  on  my  nerves. 
Why  the  devil  doesn't  she  get  some  blood  in  her  } 
These  pious  women  are  only  good  to  ravish.  Why 
the  devil  don't  they  enter  nunneries  ?  I  wish  that 
one  of  these  three  sprightly  lads  would  have  a  try 
at  Olivia.  One  never  knows,  though.  Even 
Olivia  might  take  it  as  a  compliment.'  For  a 
moment  he  wondered  if  there  were  any  chance  of 
trouble  at  Accomac.  Very  little,  he  concluded. 
He  laughed  to  think  of  the  strength  of  his  posi- 
tion. It  was  a  pleasure  to  him  to  think  that  three 
men  hated  him,  perhaps  longed  to  kill  him,  and 
that  one  refrained  because  of  Olivia,  while  the 
other  two  refrained  because  of  the  first.  'Lord, 
Lord,'  he  murmured,  with  a  smile.  '  And  they'll  all 
three  die  to  save  me.  I'd  go  to  Accomac  if  there 
were  a  dozen  governors.  I  wonder  if  the  Indian 
girls  are  any  fun.  I  back  a  hot  climate  against  a 
virgin-martyr.'  He  thought  of  one  or  two  women 
who  had  no  need  for  a  hot  climate.  He  was  hardly 
built  for  marriage,  he  thought.  Those  old  days 
had  been  sweet  in  the  mouth.  There  was  that 
sleepy-looking  girl — Dick  Sadler's  wife.  She  was 
some   fun.      How    wild    she    used    to    get    when 

she He   wished    that    Perrin   would   come 

below  as  a  butt  for  some  of  his  ill-temper. 

It  was  only  four  bells  ;  there  were  at  least  two 
hours  to  wait  till  dinner-time.  He  was  sick  of  sleep- 
ing ;  he  was  sick  of  most  of  his  shipmates ;  he  could 
not  dice  'one  hand  against  the  other.'  Reading 
bored  him,  writing  worried  him,  sketch  he  could  not. 
He  stretched  himself  down  on  the  locker-top,  and  lit 
his  pipe.     Tobacco  was  forbidden  in  the  cabin  for 

126 


STUKELET 

Olivia's  sake  ;  but  he  argued  that  he  was  the  real 
commander  of  the  ship,  the  practical  owner,  since 
he  ruled  her  material  destiny  by  ruling  Olivia.  As 
he  smoked,  it  occurred  to  him  that  perhaps  he  had 
done  wrong  to  anger  Captain  Margaret.  That 
Maggy  was  a  sullen  devil.  He  might  turn  sullen, 
and  give  him  up  in  spite  of  Olivia.  He  smoked 
quietly  for  a  little  time,  till  a  scheme  came  to  him, 
a  scheme  which  gave  him  pleasure,  so  good  it 
seemed. 

He  lay  lazily  on  the  locker-top,  looking  out  over 
the  sea,  through  the  stern-windows.  The  sun  was 
shining,  making  the  track  of  the  ship  gleam.  Just 
below  Stukeley,  sometimes  almost  within  a  sword's 
thrust,  when  the  counter  squattered  down,  slap- 
ping the  sea,  were  the  rudder  eddies,  the  little 
twirling  threads,  the  twisted  water  which  spun  in 
the  pale  clear  green,  shot  through  with  bubbles. 
They  rose  and  whirled  continually,  creaming  up 
and  bursting,  streaking  aft  in  whiteness.  Over 
them  wavered  some  mewing  sea-birds,  dipping 
down  with  greedy  plunges,  anon  rising,  hovering, 
swaying  up.  Stukeley  watched  them  with  the  vacant 
stare  of  one  bored.  For  a  few  minutes  he  amused 
himself  by  spitting  at  those  which  came  within 
range  ;  then,  proving  a  poor  marksman,  he  rum- 
maged for  a  biscuit,  thinking  that  he  would  fish 
for  them.  He  found  a  hank  of  white-line,  and 
tied  a  bit  of  biscuit  to  the  end.  He  was  about  to 
make  his  first  cast  when  Mrs.  Inigo  entered,  bear- 
ing a  buck-basket  containing  her  week's  washing, 
now  ready  to  be  dried. 

When  the  Broken  Heart  left  Falmouth,  Captain 
Margaret   made   certain  orders  to  ensure  Olivia's 

127 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

comfort.  He  had  tried  to  put  himself  in  her  place, 
to  see  with  her  eyes,  to  feel  with  her  nerves, 
knowing  that  her  position  on  board,  without  another 
lady  to  bear  her  company,  would  not  be  a  pleasant 
one.  The  whole  of  the  ship  abaft  the  forward 
cabin  bulkhead  had  been  given  up  to  her.  The 
three  members  of  the  afterguard  took  their  meals 
in  the  cabin,  but  seldom  entered  it  at  other  times, 
unless  they  wished  to  use  the  table  for  chess, 
cards,  or  chart- work.  The  negro  steward,  who  had 
once  ruled  in  the  cabin,  was  now  little  more  than 
a  cabin-cook.  Mrs.  Inigo  did  much  of  his  work. 
She  cleaned  the  cabin,  laid  the  breakfast,  served 
Olivia's  early  chocolate,  letting  the  negro  cook 
wash  up.  Cammock  and  Perrin  agreed  with  Captain 
Margaret  that  the  after  part  of  the  ship  should  be 
left  as  much  as  possible  to  the  two  Stukeleys,  so  that 
Olivia  might  feel  that  she  was  living  in  a  private 
house.  After  the  cabin  supper,  at  the  end  of  the  first 
dog-watch,  no  man  of  the  three  entered  the  cabin 
unless  Olivia  invited  him.  Margaret  felt  that 
Olivia  was  touched  by  this  thought  for  her.  She 
was  very  gracious  to  him  during  her  first  evening 
party.  It  was  sweet  to  hear  her  thanks,  sweet 
to  see  her,  flushed  and  laughing,  radiant  from  the 
sea  air,  sitting  there  at  the  table,  as  Cammock 
dealt  the  cards  for  Pope  Joan.  That  evening  had 
been  very  dear  to  him,  even  though,  across  the 
cabin,  on  the  heaped  green  cushions,  lay  Stukeley, 
greedy  for  his  wife's  beauty,  whetting  his  swine's 
tusk  as  the  colour  came  upon  her  cheek.  It  would 
all  be  for  him,  he  thought,  and  the  thought,  now 
and  then,  was  almost  joyful,  that  she  should  be 
happy.     It  was   not   in   his  nature  to   be  jealous. 

128 


STUKELET 

The  greatest  bitterness  for  him  was  to  see  the 
desired  prize  neglected,  unappreciated,  never  really 
known  ;  and  to  apprehend,  in  a  gesture,  in  a  few 
words,  the  thought  implied,  which  the  accepted 
lover  failed  to  catch,  or  else  ignored.  He  had 
tested  Stukeley's  imaginative  sympathy  by  the 
framing  of  another  rule.  In  a  small  ship  like  the 
Broken  Heart  there  is  little  privacy.  To  prevent  a 
possible  shock  to  her,  he  arranged  that  on  washing- 
days  the  clothes  of  the  women  should  be  hung  to 
dry  from  the  cabin  windows  (from  lines  rigged  up 
below  the  port-sills,  where  they  were  out  of  view 
of  the  crew).  Olivia  was  pleased  by  this  arrange- 
ment, without  quite  knowing  why.  Stukeley  saw 
no  sense  in  it.  On  this  particular  morning  the 
arrangement  bore  peculiar  fruit,  very  grateful  to 
Stukeley,  who  had  long  hungered  for  a  change. 

Mrs.  Inigo  entered  with  the  buck-basket,  closing 
the  door  behind  her.  She  dropped  the  basket  on 
the  deck  below  the  window-seat,  seized  the  clothes- 
line, and  began  to  stop  the  linen  to  it,  in  the  sea- 
fashion,  with  ropeyarns.  She  was  a  little  flushed 
with  the  exertion  of  washing,  and  she  was  a  comely 
woman  at  all  times. 

*  Vm  going  to  help  you,*  said  Stukeley. 

She  smiled,  and  looked  down,  as  he  helped  her  to 
tie  some  clothes  to  the  line.  She  blushed  and 
smiled  ;  he  took  her  hand. 

'  Let  go  my  hand,'  she  whispered. 

He  pressed  the  hand,  and  though  she  drew  back, 
a  little  frightened,  he  managed  to  catch  the  other. 
He  kissed  the  hands.    They  were  rough  but  warm. 

*  Don't,'  she  said.     *  Don't,  Mr.  Stukeley.' 

'  Ah,  Bess,'  he  said,  taking  her  into  his  arms  and 
K  129 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

kissing   her,  '  why   didn't  you  give  me   a  chance 
before  ? ' 

Half  an  hour  later  Bessy  Inigo  went  forward  to 
peel  potatoes  for  dinner,  while  Stukeley  slept  upon 
the  locker-top  till  the  steward  roused  him  at  one 
bell. 

He  went  on  deck,  when  he  was  called,  to  get  a 
breath  of  air  before  dinner.  He  found  Olivia  at 
work  with  her  little  balls  of  silk,  while  Perrin,  on 
the  lee  side  of  the  skylight,  was  drawing  for  her  a 
ship  upon  canvas.  Perrin  was  talking  to  Olivia, 
asking  her  questions  about  her  work.  At  the 
break  of  the  poop  Captain  Cammock  stood,  waiting 
with  his  quadrant  to  take  the  height  of  the  sun. 

Olivia  looked  up  with  a  smile  as  Stukeley  stepped 
on  deck.  She  was  still  in  that  rapturous  first  stage 
of  marriage  in  which  all  men,  save  the  husband, 
are  regarded  as  hardly  living,  as  being,  at  best,  but 
necessary  cumberers  of  the  earth,  mere  lifeless  inter- 
ruptions. In  the  early  days  of  the  voyage  she  had 
learned,  from  one  of  Captain  Cammock's  stories, 
that  people  shut  up  in  ships  together  cannot  always 
bear  the  strain,  but  become  irritable,  quarrelsome, 
apt  to  suspect  and  slander.  She  had  determined 
that  her  married  love  should  not  decay  thus,  and 
so,  for  some  weeks  past,  she  had  contrived  to  avoid 
her  husband  for  several  hours  each  day,  greatly  to 
the  delight  of  Perrin.  On  this  particular  day  she 
felt  that  Providence  had  rewarded  her  but  meanly 
for  her  loving  self-sacrifice.  All  men,  save  Tom, 
were  nothing  to  her,  but  Perrin,  in  the  morning, 
in  one  of  his  dull  moods,  when  unrelieved  by 
Margaret,  was  less  than  nothing.  She  had  always 
been  a  little  shy  of  Perrin,  perhaps  because  Perrin's 

130 


STUKELET 

shyness  was  a  bar  to  equal  intercourse.  Her  own 
nature  was  full  of  shy  refinements.  She  could  give 
nothing  of  herself  to  one  who  could  not  win  upon 
her  by  some  grace  or  gallantry.  Perrin  meant 
well  ;  he  was  even  her  devoted  slave  ;  but  he  was 
heavy  in  the  hand  with  ladies,  until  their  sympathy 
had  raised  his  spirits.  Olivia  was  not  in  the  mood 
to  give  him  even  that  simulated  sympathy  by  which 
women  extract  their  knowledge  of  men.  Her  own 
fine  instincts  told  her,  or  rather  suggested  to  her, 
all  that  could  be  known  of  Perrin.  In  a  vague  way 
she  had  the  idea  of  Perrin  in  her  mind,  the  true 
idea  ;  but  vague,  without  detail,  an  instinctive  com- 
prehension. He  was  a  blunted  soul  to  her,  broken 
somehow.  She  felt  that  he  had  been  through  some- 
thing, some  vice  perhaps,  or  sickness,  with  the 
result  that  he  was  blunted.-  He  was  quite  harm- 
less, she  thought,  even  sometimes  pleasant,  always 
well-meaning,  and  yet  dwarfed,  made  blunt,  like 
his  shapeless  hands.  She  never  could  bring  herself 
to  treat  him  as  a  human  being.  Yet  he  interested 
her ;  he  had  the  fascination  of  all  mysterious  persons ; 
she  could  never  accept  her  husband's  contemptuous 
estimate.  Possibly  she  felt  the  need  for  the  society 
of  another  lady,  and  hesitated  to  condemn  Perrin, 
as  being  the  nearest  thing  to  a  lady  in  the  ship. 
Thus  Robinson  Crusoe  on  his  island  unduly  valued 
a  parrot. 

About  half  an  hour  before  her  husband  came 
on  deck,  Olivia  had  seen  Perrin  coming  down  from 
aloft,  where  he  had  been  engaged  with  a  seaman  in 
fitting  new  spunyarn  gaskets  to  all  the  yards  on 
the  mainmast,  so  that  the  furls  might  look  neat 
when  they  made  Virginia.     He  enjoyed  his  work 

131 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

aloft  until  he  grew  hot,  when  he  soon  found  a 
pretext  for  leaving  it.  On  reaching  the  deck,  he 
went  aft  to  Olivia  (who  smiled  her  recognition), 
and  sat  down  at  her  side,  content  to  stay  still,  to 
cool.  The  sight  of  Olivia's  beauty  so  near  to  him 
filled  him  with  a  kind  of  awe.  Like  a  schoolboy 
impressed  by  some  beautiful  woman  who  is  gracious 
to  him,  perhaps  merely  from  that  love  of  youth 
which  all  women  have,  so  did  Perrin  imagine 
heroisms,  rescuing  that  dear  head,  now  bent  with  a 
shy  sweetness  over  her  mat. 

'  Olivia,'  he  said  at  length,  about  a  minute  after 
the  proper  time  for  the  request,  '  will  you  show  me 
what  you  have  done  } ' 

She  looked  up  from  her  work  with  a  smile  that 
was  half  amusement  at  his  serious  tone. 

^  Fve  not  done  very  much,'  she  said,  showing  her 
canvas,  with  its  roses,  surrounded  by  a  garland  of 
verbena  leaves,  still  little  more  than  outlined.  ^  Did 
you  ever  try  to  make  mats  } '  she  added. 

'  I  can  make  daisy-mats  with  wool,  on  a  frame 
with  pins,'  he  answered.  *  Can  you  make  those  '^ 
You  cut  them,  and  they  show  like  a  lot  of  daisies.' 

'  1  used  to  make  them,'  she  said,  '  when  I  went 
to  stay  with  my  aunt  Pile,  at  Eltons.  You  were 
at  Eltons,  too,  were  you  not  }  I  think  you  stayed 
there  ? ' 

*Yes.  I  stayed  there.  What  a  beautiful  old 
place  it  is.     Have  you  been  there  lately  } ' 

'  No.  Not  for  two  or  three  years  now.  I  was 
very  gay  the  last  time  I  was  there.  I  think 
I  went  to  a  dance  every  night.  My  poor  brothers 
were  alive  then.  We  used  to  drive  off  together. 
I've  never  been  there  since.' 

132 


STUKELET 

*  Ah/  said  Perrin.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  so 
that  his  brain  might  make  the  picture  of  the  woman 
before  him  sitting  in  the  gloom  of  the  carriage,  with 
all  her  delicate  beauty  warmly  wrapped  by  the  two 
young  men  now  dead.  '  Furs,*  he  muttered  to 
himself.  '  Furs,  and  the  lamps  shining  on  the  snow.* 
Then  he  looked  at  Olivia,  noting  the  grey  and 
black  dress,  the  one  gold  bracelet  round  her  wrist, 
and  the  old  pearl  ear-rings  against  the  mass  of  hair. 

*  What  jolly  clothes  women  wear,'  he  said,  mean- 
ing (like  most  men  who  use  such  phrases)  *  How 
beautiful  you  look  there.' 

'  This  } '  she  asked.     *  This  is  my  oldest  frock.* 
'  Is  it }    I  didn't  remember  it.    How  do  you  get 
your  clothes  } ' 

*  I  tell  my  dressmaker.* 

'  I  wish  you'd  let  me  design  you  a  dress.* 
'  I  should  be  very  pleased.     What  sort  of  dress 
would  you  design  for  me  ?  * 

*I  would  have  you  in  a  sort  of  white  satin  bodice, 
all  embroidered  with  tiny  scarlet  roses.  And  then  a 
little  black  velvet  coat  over  it,  with  very  full 
sleeves,  slashed,  to  show  an  inner  sleeve  of  dark 
blue  silk.  And  the  lining  of  the  velvet  would  be 
dark  green  ;  so  you  would  have  green,  blue,  white, 
and  red  all  contrasted  against  the  black  of  the 
velvet.' 

*  That  would  be  costly.  And  what  skirt  ?  A 
black  skirt,  I  suppose  ?  * 

*  A  very  full  black  skirt.  What  do  you  think 
about  a  belt  ?  Would  you  wear  that  belt  of  yours  } 
The  one  with  the  Venetian  silver-work  } ' 

'  I  don't  know  about  a  belt.  I  thought  you  were 
going  to  design  everything  "^  * 

133 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  Not  a  belt,  then.  And  black  shoes,  with  small, 
oval,  cut-steel  buckles.' 

'  I  should  think  that  would  be  very  pretty.'  Her 
thoughts  were  wandering  in  England,  down  a  lane 
of  beech  trees  within  sound  of  the  sea,  to  a  hillock  of 
short  grass,  cropped  by  the  sheep,  where  sea-pinks 
and  sea-holly  sprouted. 

'  What  are  the  sailors  like  ^ '  she  asked.  '  I  saw 
you  working  up  aloft  with  them.  What  are  they 
like  to  talk  to  } ' 

'  Oh.     They're  all  right.' 

'  1  think  they're  dreadful  people.' 

'Why.'''  said  Perrin.  'What  makes  you  think 
they're  dreadful  ?' 

'  No  nice  man  would  take  to  such  a  life.  Oh. 
It  must  be  dreadful.  I  shudder  when  I  see  them. 
What  do  they  talk  of,  among  themselves  V 

'  They're  not  very  refined,  of  course.  That  man 
up  on  the  yard  there  was  once  a  slave  in  Virginia. 
You  see  he  was  transported  for  theft.  He  says  he 
used  to  cry,  sometimes,  half  through  the  night. 
He  was  so  homesick.' 

'  Oh,  that's  terrible.  But  what  home  had  he  to 
be  sick  for  ? ' 

'  The  ash-heap  near  a  glass-house  furnace. 
Somewhere  in  Chelsea,  I  think  he  said.' 

'  And  are  the  others  all  thieves,  do  you  sup- 
pose V 

'  That  ugly-looking  dark  fellow  with  the  crooked 
eyes  was  once  in  a  pirate's  crew,  so  the  man  on  the 
yard  said.' 

'  Was  he  really  ?  I  don't  think  that  man  is  quite 
sane.  He  seems  to  glare  so.  Oh,  ships  are  dread- 
ful, dreadful.' 

134 


STUKELET 

^  They're     beautiful,     though.      All Yes. 

Don't  you  think  all  beautiful  things  seem  to  gather 
vileness  about  them  ?' 

*  No,  I  don't  think  so.  Vileness  "^  In  what  way, 
vileness  V 

'  I  think  they  do.    You  see  ships  with  sailors,  and 

pictures    with    picture-dealers,   and    tragedies 

Well.  Tragedies  with  all  sorts  of  people.'  He 
ran  on  glibly,  though  with  some  confusion.  The 
thought  had  occurred  to  him  first  in  a  moment 
of  jealous  anger  that  Olivia,  so  beautiful  and  sweet, 
should  be  a  prey  to  the  vile  Stukeley.  He  blushed 
and  stopped,  thinking  that  she  would  read  his 
thought. 

'  Oh.  But  I  don't  think  that  at  all,'  she  said. 
*You  ought  to  say  that  vileness  gathers  about 
beautiful  things.  A  beautiful  thing  is  a  vigorous 
form  of  life,  and  all  forms  of  life  have  parasites. 
The  parasites  don't  attach  themselves  to  the  things 
you  speak  of  because  the  things  are  beautiful.' 

'  No.  I  suppose  not.  Of  course  not,'  he 
answered,  rather  puzzled,  still  thinking  of  Stukeley. 

'  And  you  wouldn't  say  that  the  really  beautiful 
things,  such  as  love  is,  say,  to  a  woman  like  myself. 
No  vileness  gathers  about  that  V 

*  N-no,'  he  answered,  with  some  hesitation, 
wishing  that  he  had  never  started  his  mild  little 
rabbit  of  an  epigram.  He  looked  away,  at  the  sky- 
line, for  a  moment.  Then,  with  sudden  desperation, 
he  charged  her  to  change  the  subject,  his  face  still 
red  from  his  former  rout. 

'  Olivia,'  he  said.  *  If  I  drew  you  a  ship,  would 
you  embroider  it,  or  make  a  mat  of  it  V 

*  Yes,'  she  said.    '  Draw  the  Broken  Heart.    I  could 

135 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

work  it  for  Tom's  birthday.    I  should  be  very  glad 
of  it,  after  I've  finished  this.' 

Perrin  helped  her  to  cut  a  square  of  canvas  from 
a  little  roll  she  had  obtained  from  the  sailmaker. 
He  settled  himself  down  to  draw.  Olivia  stitched 
with  her  silks. 

^  It  is  so  curious,'  she  said  at  last,  '  that  you 
should  have  known  my  husband — that  you  knew 
him  years  ago,  when  we  stayed  at  Eltons  together. 
Before  I  knew  him.' 

*  Yes.  I've  thought  that,  too.  And  now  we're 
all  here  together.  And  Eltons  is  still  going  on, 
behind  us  there.  Rooks  in  the  elms.  And  your 
aunt  Pile  in  her  chair.' 

She  seemed  to  reflect  for  a  moment,  as  though 
thinking  of  the  beautiful  house,  where  life  moved 
so  nobly,  like  a  strain  of  music.  Perrin  knew  that 
she  was  thinking  of  Stukeley.  '  Oh,  you  women,* 
he  said  to  himself.  '  You  give  everything  for  a 
pennyweight  of  love,  and  even  that  is  never  paid 
to  you.'  He  would  have  given  much,  poor  moth, 
to  be  back  at  Eltons,  young  and  handsome,  with 
the  shy,  gauche  girl  who  had  since  become  Olivia. 
'  I  didn't  know  then,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  and  you 
couldn't  guess.  And  now  we're  driving  to  it. 
Shipwreck.  Shipwreck.  And  I  should  have  been 
so  happy  with  you.' 

'  What  was  Tom  like  then  }'  said  Olivia. 

^  Who  }  Oh,  your  husband.  You  see  I  didn't 
know  him  well,*  said  Perrin  in  confusion.  ^  He 
was — I  think  he  was  a  lot  thinner  than  he  is  now.' 

'  How  did  he  look  in  his  uniform  ? ' 

'  His  uniform  } '  said  Perrin.  '  You  see.  I 
didn't  see  him  in   his   uniform.     You  see  it  was 

136 


STUKELET 

after  he'd  been  kicked After  he'd You 

know   what.     What    is    the    word  ?     After    he'd 
been ' 

Stammering  and  blushing,  he  managed  to  get  out 
of  his  difficulty.  Olivia  thought  that  he  had  been 
afflicted  by  that  impediment  in  his  speech,  or 
partial  aphasia,  which  sometimes  checked  his  con- 
versation. She  pitied  him,  while  feeling  that  his 
companionship  was  painful.  He  himself  turned 
very  red,  and  bit  his  tongue.  He  thought  that  the 
six  weeks  at  sea  should  have  taught  him  the  guard 
for  all  such  sudden  thrusts. 

*  After  he'd  left  the  army  } '  she  said  kindly. 

'  Yes.  Yes.  It  was,'  he  answered.  He  turned 
again  to  draw  the  image  of  the  Broken  Hearty  as  he 
had  seen  her  from  without,  some  seven  long  weeks 
before.  Olivia  gave  him  a  moment's  grace  to 
recover  his  natural  colour.  Captain  Cammock 
caught  her  eye,  and  saluted  as  he  took  his  stand 
with  his  quadrant.  She  was  smiling  back  at  him 
when  her  husband's  head  appeared  on  the  poop 
ladder.     Perrin  looked  up  quickly. 

'I'd  better  hide  this,  Olivia,'  he  said.  'If  it's  for 
your  husband's  birthday.     Shall  I  hide  it  V 

As  she  nodded  a  swift  answer  her  husband 
stepped  on  to  the  poop. 

Stukeley  advanced  rapidly  and  kissed  his  wife, 
with  some  show  of  fervour,  for  policy's  sake. 
Then  with  a  quick  snatch  he  caught  Perrin's  draw- 
ing, lying  half  hidden  upon  the  skylight  seat  under 
one  of  Olivia's  wraps. 

'Look  at  little  Pilly's  cow,'  he  said.  'Look, 
Olivia.     Did  you  draw  this,  little  Pilly  ? ' 

'  He  was  drawing  it  for  me,'  said  Olivia. 
137 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  Were  you  going  to  teach  him  to  embroider  it  ? 
Little  Pilly,  was  he  going  to  have  his  little  needle, 
then  ?  And  his  red  and  blue  silk.  Eh  ?  You 
know,  Olivia,  I  saw  little  Pilly  here,  down  in 
the  cabin  one  hit  me,  playing  with  some  red  and 
blue  silk  spools.  Ah,  little  Pilly  ;  it's  a  shame  to 
tease  him.  He  must  have  his  little  dollies, 
then.?' 

'You  put  down  that  drawing,'  said  Perrin, 
snatching  at  it. 

Stukeley  held  him  aside  with  one  hand,  dangling 
the  drawing  from  the  other. 

'  No,  no,  little  Pilly,'  he  said.  '  Manners,  little 
boy.     Manners  before  ladies.' 

'Don't,  Tom  dear,'  said  Olivia.  'Don't  spoil 
the  drawing,' 

'  That  would  be  a  shame,'  he  answered.  '  Little 
Pilly  draws  so  beautifully.  Which  is  the  tail, 
Pilly  } '  he  asked.  '  Which  of  these  prongy  things 
is  the  tail } ' 

Perrin  did  not  answer  ;  but  again  attempted  to 
snatch  the  canvas. 

'  Why  don't  you  take  it,  little  Pilly .? '  said 
Stukeley. 

'Damn  you,  give  it,'  said  Perrin,  white  with 
passion.  He  snatched  the  canvas  from  him,  smote 
him  a  sharp  slash  across  the  eyes  with  it,  and  flung 
it  overboard. 

Stukeley  made  a  rush  at  him,  but  became  in- 
volved with  one  of  Olivia's  wraps.  Cammock 
stepped  between  the  disputants  with  his  quadrant 
at  his  eye. 

'Woa,  blood,'  he  said.  'Don't  knock  my  ship 
overboard.     Make  eight  bells  there,  will  you,  Mr. 

138 


STUKELET 

Perrin  ?  Mr.  Stukeley,  will  you  please  step  and 
tell  the  steward  to  set  the  clock  right  ?  * 

'  Do  your  own  dirty  work/  said  Stukeley. 

The  helmsman  sniggered  audibly.  Cammock 
raised  his  hat  about  an  inch  from  his  head. 

'  Quite  right,  sir,'  he  said,  as  Perrin  made  eight 
bells.  '  Quite  right  to  remind  me,  sir.  I  forgot 
you  was  only  a  passenger.' 

^  Steward,'  shouted  Perrin.  ^  Oh.  Mrs.  Inigo. 
Just  tell  the  steward  to  set  the  clock  right.' 

'  De  clock  am  set,  seh,'  said  the  steward,  coming 
to  the  break  of  the  poop  to  ring  the  bell  for  dinner. 

*  Tom  dear,'  said  Olivia,  conscious  that  the  man 
she  loved  had  made  but  a  poor  show.  '  Tom,  dear. 
You  weren't  very  kind.  I  mean.  I  think  you 
hurt  Captain  Cammock.  And  you  made  Edward 
angry.  He  can't  bear  to  be  teased.  He's  not 
easy-tempered  like  you,  dear.  I  think  sometimes 
you  forget  that,  don't  you,  Tom  }  You  won't  be 
cross,  Tom  } ' 

*Oh,  nonsense,  Polly,'  he  said,  as  he  took  her 
arm  to  lead  her  below.  *  Nonsense,  you  old  pretty- 
eyes.  I  can't  resist  teasing  Pilly  ;  he's  such  an  old 
hen.  As  for  Cammock,  he's  only  an  old  pirate. 
I'm  not  going  to  be  ordered  about  by  a  man  like 
that.     He's  no  right  to  be  at  liberty.' 

Olivia  was  pleased  by  the  reference  to  her  eyes, 
so  she  said  no  more.  She  wondered,  during  dinner, 
why  Captain  Margaret  ate  so  little  and  so  silently, 
and  why  Perrin  never  spoke  until  addressed. 
Cammock  was  affable  and  polite.  His  attention  to 
Stukeley's  needs  was  almost  oily. 


139 


VI 

A  SUPPER  PARTY 

*  But  here  comes  Glorias,  that  will  plague  them  both.' 

John  Donne. 
*  I'll  make  'em  dance, 

And  caper,  too,  before  they  get  their  liberty. 
Unmannerly  rude  puppies.' 

Wit  Without  Money, 

A  FTER  dinner,  Captain  Cammock  took  tobacco 
on  the  poop  alone.  He  liked  to  be  alone  after 
dinner  ;  because  his  mind  was  then  very  peaceful, 
so  that  he  could  'shift  his  tides,*  as  he  said,  walking 
up  and  down,  remembering  old  days  at  sea.  He 
had  had  an  adventurous  life,  had  Captain  Cam- 
mock.  Like  most  men  who  had  lived  hard,  he 
lived  very  much  in  his  past,  thinking  that  such  a 
thing,  done  long  ago,  was  fine,  and  that  such  a 
man,  shot  long  since,  outside  some  Spanish  breast- 
work, was  a  great  man,  better  than  the  men  of 
these  days,  braver,  kindlier.  So  he  walked  the 
deck,  sucking  his  clay,  blowing  out  blue  smoke  in 
little  quick  whiffs,  thinking  of  old  times.  One 
thing  he  was  always  proud  of:  he  had  sailed  with 
Morgan.  He  had  memories  of  Morgan  on  the 
green  savannah,  riding  on  a  little  Spanish  horse, 
slunk  forward  in  his  saddle  somehow,  '  a  bit  swag- 
bellied.  Sir  Henry,*  with  his  cigar-end  burning  his 

140 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

moustache.  And  all  of  those  men  crowded  round 
him,  surging  in  on  him,  plastered  with  mud,  gory 
with  their  raw-meat  meal  ;  they  were  scattered 
pretty  well  ;  they  would  never  come  in  on  the  one 
field  again.  On  the  Keys,  it  had  been  fine,  too  ;  all 
of  that  blue  water  had  been  fine.  A  sea  like  blue 
flame,  and  islands  everywhere,  and  the  sun  over 
all,  making  bright,  and  boles  of  cedar  among  the 
jungle  like  the  blood-streaks  in  porphyry.  And 
graceful,  modest  Indian  women,  glistening  with  oil, 
crowned  with  dwarf-roses.  And  then  one  or  two 
nights  by  the  camp-fires,  with  old  Delander  stand- 
ing sentry,  and  Eddie  Collier  singing  ;  it  was  none 
of  it  like  this  ;  this  was  responsible  work  ;  this 
turned  the  hair  grey.  He  felt  this  the  more 
strongly,  because  the  Broken  Heart  was  not  a  happy 
ship  ;  she  was  wearing  him  down.  Stukeley  made 
him  grit  his  teeth.  He  had  to  sit  at  table  with 
him,  conscious  of  the  man's  mean  malice  at  every 
moment.  There  would  be  some  slight  sound,  an 
intake  of  the  breath,  some  muttered  exclamation, 
a  request  to  repeat  the  offending  phrase,  when  he, 
a  rough  seaman,  made  some  mispronunciation,  or 
slip  in  grammar.  And  to  stand  that,  till  one's 
veins  nearly  burst,  knowing  that  the  man  was  a 
cast  criminal,  flying  for  his  life.  And  to  have  to 
pretend  that  he  was  a  guest,  an  honoured  guest, 
a  fit  mate  for  the  woman  there.  And  to  have  to 
defend  him,  if  need  be,  in  Virginia.  It  made  him 
check  his  walk  sometimes  to  shake  a  belaying-pin 
in  the  fife-rail,  till  the  passion  passed.  It  was 
lucky  for  Stukeley  that  he  was  a  man  with  a  pretty 
tight  hold  on  himself.  A  lesser  man,  a  man  not 
trained  in  the  wars,  would  have  laid  Stukeley  dead, 

141 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

or  taken  it  out  of  the  hands.  He  was  too  just 
a  man  to  work  it  off  on  his  hands.  At  this  point 
he  checked  himself,  sharply,  putting  all  evil  thoughts 
aside,  remembering  how  a  shipmate,  Balsam  Dick, 
the  Scholerd,who  ladled  out  soft-polly  of  a  Sunday, 
old  Balsam  Dick  it  was,  had  told  him  that  was  the 
thing  to  do.  '  Let  it  go  or  make  it  go,'  that  was 
how  to  work  a  passion.  There  was  no  sense,  only 
misery,  in  keeping  it  by  one,  poisoning  oneself. 
Besides,  he  was  glad  he'd  come  this  cruise.  He 
had  been  for  six  weeks  shut  up  in  a  ship  with 
Olivia.  He  would  never  be  thankful  enough  for 
that.  She  was  so  beautiful,  so  pure,  so  gentle  and 
kind,  so  delicate  a  lovely  thing,  he  could  hardly 
bear  to  think  of  her.  When  he  thought  of  Olivia, 
he  would  lean  over  the  taffrail,  somewhere  above 
her  cabin,  v/ondering  at  the  powers  which  had 
made  him  what  he  was,  a  resolute,  rough  seaman, 
beaten  into  clumsy  toughness.  And  yet  those 
powers  had  shaped  her,  too,  making  her  very 
beautiful,  very  wonderful.  And  now  the  powers 
had  shoved  her  into  a  ship  with  him ;  and  he  would 
never  be  quite  the  same  towards  women,  whatever 
happened.  But,  then,  there  was  Stukeley,  that 
intolerable,  mean  bully,  worrying  all  of  them  in 
the  same  ways,  day  after  day,  with  a  maddening 
monotony  of  insult.  Perrin,  who  was  half  Welsh, 
had  once  hit  off  Stukeley  in  an  epigram  upon  the 
English.  '  Dull,'  he  had  said,  goaded  by  some 
school-bully  boorishness,  repeated  for  the  hundredth 
time.  '  The  English  dull  ?  Of  course  they  are 
dull.  They're  so  dull  that  they  can't  be  in- 
ventive even  in  their  cruelty.'  Cammock  would 
repeat  this  phrase,  reading  *  Stukeley '  for  '  Eng- 

142 


A  SUPPER   PARTY 

lish,'  so  many  times  daily  that  *  he  tokened  his 
pasture.' 

While  Cammock  walked  the  deck,  thinking  and 
smoking,  Olivia  sat  in  her  state-room  writing 
letters,  feeling  sure  that  she  would  be  able  to  send 
them  home  from  Virginia  in  one  of  the  tobacco- 
ships,  and  anxious  to  be  ready  in  case  they  should 
speak  one  at  sea.  Margaret  and  Perrin  sat  in 
Captain  Cammock's  cabin  together,  working  out 
the  sights,  and  talking  in  a  low  voice  of  Stukeley. 
The  cabin  door  was  open,  so  that  they  could  look 
across  the  alleyway  to  the  closed  door  of  Mrs. 
Inigo's  state-room,  once  the  sail-locker.  They 
noticed  that  Mrs.  Inigo  came  to  her  door  every 
now  and  then,  to  glance  down  the  alleyway,  with 
an  anxious  face.  They  supposed  that  she  was 
waiting  for  Olivia  to  call  her.  Once,  indeed,  she 
asked  them  if  Mrs.  Stukeley  had  called. 

'  Well,  Charles,'  said  Perrin.  '  I  told  you  how 
it  would  be.     You  see  now  what  you've  done.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Margaret.  *  1  admit  I  was  wrong. 
I  made  a  great  mistake.' 

'  I  don't  blame  you,'  said  Perrin.  *  But  what  are 
you  going  to  do  when  we  land  ?' 

'  Call  him  out.' 

*  No,  sir.     I'm  going  to  call  him  out.' 

'  Aren't  we  both  talking  nonsense  ?  How  can 
either  of  us  call  him  out,  with  Olivia  on  board  } 
And  then  they're  my  guests.' 

*  Well.     I  think  we  ought  to  get  rid  of  them.' 
'  We  can't,  with  Olivia.' 

'  There  may  be  letters  ordering  us  to  give  him 

up; 

*  Then  we  shall  have  to  cut  and  run  for  it.' 

143 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Now  why  go  in  for  these  heroics  ?* 

'  Because — 1  don't  know.     When  I  was  a  young 

man  I  framed  a  certain  scheme  of  life,  I  suppose. 

There  it  is.' 

'  We're  only  putting  oiF  the  evil  day.' 

'  Why  }     What  makes  you  think  that  V 

^  Supposing  we  do  cut  and  run  for  it.     What  are 

you  going  to  do  1     How  about  your  merchandise  ? 

Where  are  you  going  to  take  them  }     Olivia  must 

know  some  day.     They  can't  go  back  to  England. 

It's  only  merciful  to  her  to  tell  her.' 

*  Who  is  to  tell  her  ?  Who  is  to  go  to  her  and 
say,  "  Olivia,  your  husband's  a  forger."  It's  im- 
possible, Edward.' 

'  Well,  I  think  we  ought  to  tell  her.' 

^  Very  well  then.     Go  in  and  tell  her.    You  can't.' 

'  I  will' 

'  No.  Sit  down.  Look  here.  I  used  to  know 
Howard,  the  present  Governor,  years  ago.  Sup- 
pose this.  Suppose  I  could  get  him  to  waive  the 
arrest.  That  is,  if  we  find  an  arrest  has  been 
ordered.  And  we  could  persuade.  I  want  to 
spare  that  poor  girl.  He  might  get  them  to  settle, 
give  him  an  appointment — anything.  Make  him 
his  secretary.' 

'And  what  sort  of  life  would  Olivia  have  V 

^  A  better  one  than  on  the  Main,  surely.' 

'  It's  a  difficult  row  to  hoe.' 

Mtis.' 

*  Let's  make  a  sangaree.  Will  you  have  some  if 
I  make  some  .''' 

'No.  Let's  go  into  this  with  clear  heads.  It 
might  be  better  to  tell  Olivia.  But  it'll  break  her 
heart.' 

144 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

*  She's  got  to  suffer  some  day.  And  her  heart 
won't  break/ 

'  My  God,  though,  Edward,  do  think  what  she  is, 
think  of  her  life.  Think  what.  To  have  her 
husband  driven  in  a  cart  and  hanged.' 

'  Yes.  But  it's  surely  a  worse  tragedy  for 
him  not  to  be  hanged,  and  to  go  on  living  with 
her.' 

'  I  know.     It  is.     But  she  loves  him.' 

'  Comic  devils,  women.     Aren't  they  V 

^  1  don't  understand  you.' 

'  Well.  Look  here.  I  suppose  he  would  be 
hanged  ? ' 

*  I  shouldn't  think  there's  a  doubt  of  it.' 

'  And  the  question  is,  how  to  get  rid  of  Stukeley 
and  spare  Olivia  }' 

'  No.  How  to  spare  Olivia.  Settle  them  in 
Virginia,  I  say.' 

'  In  the  first  place,  the  Governor  might  not  allow 
it.     And  in  the  second  place,  my  dear  man,  you 

simply    can't   leave    Olivia    in    a    land   where 

Well.     A  savage  land.' 

^  What  do  you  know  of  the  land  ? ' 

*  I  don't  know  anything  of  the  land.' 

'  What  makes  you  think  it  to  be  savage  ? ' 

*  It's  common  talk.     The  sailors.' 

'  What  do  the  sailors  say  about  it  ? ' 

*  They  say  it's  "  the  hell  of  a  place."  "  The  last 
place  God  made,  and  He  forgot  to  finish  it." ' 

*  What  do  they  know  of  Virginia  ? ' 
'  They've  been  there.' 

*  Yes.  But  what  do  sailors  know  of  any 
country  ? ' 

'  They  go  ashore.' 

L  145 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  What  for  ? ' 

^  To  load  and  unload  their  cargoes.' 

'  To  roll  casks  in  the  sun  ?  * 

'Well.     Yes.' 

'  Do  they  like  that .? ' 

'No.' 

'  What  else  do  they  do  when  they  go  ashore  }  * 

'  They  go  exploring.' 

'  What }     The  brothels  ? ' 

*  Yes.     And  the  country,  too.'  • 
'  Are  there  any  roads  ? ' 

'  Well,  anyway,  they've  been  there,  and  that's 
what  they  say.  And  some  of  them.  That  Bill 
Adams  fellow  in  my  watch.  He  was  there  for  five 
years,  and  he  said  it  was  hell.' 

'  What  was  he  doing  ? ' 

*  Working  in  the  tobacco  fields.' 
'  As  a  slave  } ' 

'  No.     A  redemptioner.' 
'  Kidnapped  } ' 

*  No.     Transported.' 

'  I  think  we'd  better  wait  till  we  see  Virginia 
for  ourselves.  This  is  my  plan,  Edward.  We  had 
better  do  this,  I  think.  I'll  explain  things  to 
Howard,  and  get  him  to  give  Stukeley  a  place.' 

'  And  compromise  himself  ^ ' 

'  Not  necessarily.  Then  they  had  better  stay  in 
Virginia.  And  perhaps  I'll  give  up  the  Darien 
scheme  and  go  home,  find  out  what  sort  of  a  mess 
he  is  in,  and  see  if  I  can  make  some  sort  of  a 
composition  with  his  prosecutors.' 

'You  can't.  You're  wanted  in  England  your- 
self. We're  all  outlaws,  Charles.  We're  flying 
with  ropes  round  our  necks.' 

146 


A  SUPPER   PARTY 

^Yes.  I  suppose  we  are.  Well.  Shall  we  all 
stay  in  Virginia  }  * 

'  Till  we're  taken  and  sent  home  } ' 

^  Till  my  committee  of  merchants  procure  our 
pardons.' 

*  We  shall  get  no  pardons  till  our  Darien  scheme 
is  a  big  success.' 

^  That's  true,  too.* 

*  Old  Cammock  was  saying  that  Carolina  is  a 
good  place.  They  call  Charleston  Puerto  Franco  ; 
everybody's  safe  there,  he  says.' 

'  God  deliver  Olivia  from  a  place  so  lawless  that 
every  one  is  safe  there.' 

'  Yes.     My  word,  yes.' 

'  Suppose,  now.  Suppose  there  is  an  arrest. 
Suppose  Howard  should  be  firm.  It  seems  hard. 
My  God,  I  know  I  meant  well  ;  but  I've  got  her 
into  a  cruel  fix.  If  we  let  them  go.  Go  back  to 
England,  for  him  to  be  tried.  D'you  know,  Edward, 
I  think  it  would  be  best.' 

'  I'm  quite  sure  it  would  be.' 

'  But  you  would  have  to  go  with  her,  Perrin.  You 
would  have  to  go.    I'd  go,  too.    I'd  take  my  chance.' 

'  No  you  wouldn't.  You'll  do  nothing  of  the 
sort.     You've  enough  trouble  as  it  stands.' 

'  Oh,  I'd  have  to  go.  I  couldn't  stay  here  and 
eat  my  heart  out  for  her.' 

'Yes  you  will,  Charles.  Be  sensible.  I'll  see 
her  safe  home,  if  it  comes  to  that.' 

'  And  the  instant  you  land,  Edward,  you'll  go  to 
Flaxley,  to  her  uncle,  and  then  to  her  aunt  Pile. 
Get  them  to  come  to  her.  My  God,  love  blinds  a 
man.  I  ought  to  have  seen  all  this.  But  I  could 
only  see  what  was  pleasant  to  myself.' 

147 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^Ah.  Don*t  say  that,  Charles.  It's  not  true. 
You  didn't  know  Stukeley.' 

'  No.     Stukeley  then  was  the  man  Olivia  loved.' 

^  And  now  } ' 

'  Now  }  Now  ?  We  won't  talk  about  that, 
Edward.     Get  your  Donne  and  read  to  me.' 

'  I  read  so  badly.' 

'  You  read  excellently.  You're  a  little  slow 
sometimes.' 

'  I  can't  vary  my  voice.  I  could,  before  it  broke. 
Now  I  read  so  monotonously.' 

'Verse  ought  to  be  read  in  a  monotone,  but 
there  is  a  passionate  monotone.  Read  me  the 
Second  Anniversary,  and  we'll  forget  our  worries. 
That  sounded  rather  like  a  step  in  the  alleyway.' 

Perrin  leaned  out  of  the  door  and  looked  aft. 

'  It's  no  one,'  he  said.  'A  beam  creaked.  Stuke- 
ley's  asleep  on  the  cabin  lockers.' 

'  It  sounded  like  a  step.' 

'I'll  just  make  sure.  No.  It  can't  have  been 
anybody.'  He  tiptoed  lightly  to  the  cabin  door, 
and  looked  through.  Stukeley  was  asleep  on  the 
locker-tops,  his  face  buried  in  the  cushions.  Perrin 
closed  the  door  quietly,  and  took  his  book  from  his 
shelf.  '  It  was  no  one,'  he  said.  '  No  one  at  all. 
Only  a  beam.' 

'  Begin,  then,'  said  his  friend. 

Perrin  shut  the  door,  sat  down,  and  began  to 
read  that  glorious  elegy,  making  a  sad  business  of 
the  changing  accents. 

While  he  read,  Stukeley  sat  up  and  smiled, 
making  rude  remarks  under  his  breath.  He  had 
retired  to  his  locker-top  after  dinner,  intending 
to  visit  Mrs.  Inigo  as  soon  as  the  coast  was  clear. 

148 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

After  half  an  hour  of  yawning,  he  had  crept  down 
the  alleyway  on  tiptoe,  hoping  to  find  the  door 
ajar,  and  the  handsome  woman  waiting  for  him. 
He  noticed  that  Cammock's  door  was  open,  so  that 
it  would  be  dangerous  to  attempt  the  rendezvous  ; 
but  hearing  a  murmur  of  voices  he  had  stolen  close 
to  listen.  He  had  expected  nothing  interesting  to 
himself.  He  had  expected  some  talk  of  the  situa- 
tion, possibly  some  invective,  such  as  he  had  over- 
heard at  other  times  ;  but  for  once  he  heard  some- 
thing new  ;  something  which  (as  he  foresaw)  would 
test  the  wonderful  new  scheme  which  he  had  made 
that  morning.  He  half  doubted  if  the  scheme  would 
stand  the  strain  ;  but  a  little  thought  convinced 
him  that  he  ran  no  risk.  So  pleasant  was  the  con- 
versation to  him  that  he  lingered  rather  too  long, 
mistaking  the  intentions  of  the  speakers,  so  that, 
when  he  retreated  backwards,  he  went  too  swiftly, 
and  made  some  noise  at  the  door,  enough  to  give 
Margaret  the  impression  of  a  step.  He  had  just 
time  to  bury  his  head  in  the  cushions,  before 
Perrin  entered.  '  Fancy  old  Maggy  having  the 
guts,'  he  said.  '  We  must  deal  with  the  little  Pill, 
too.  The  little  dear  gets  poisonous.'  He  thought 
that  he  would  go  on  deck  to  pass  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon.  Mrs.  Inigo  would  have  to  be  aban- 
doned till  the  morning. 

He  rubbed  his  cheeks  vigorously  to  flush  them. 
With  a  twist  of  his  fingers  he  ruffled  his  long  black 
hair,  as  though  he  had  slept.  Then  he  went  yawn- 
ing down  the  alleyway,  pulling  at  the  skirts  of  his 
waistcoat.  He  looked  in  at  the  door  of  Cammock's 
cabin,  pretending  to  be  but  half  awakened.  'Did  one 
of  you  come  into  the  cabin  just  now  } '  he  asked. 

149 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'Yes,  I  did/  said  Perrin.  M'm  sorry  if  I  woke 
you.' 

'  Oh,  it's  all  right,'  he  said,  gaping.  *  Only 
I   wondered  who  it  was.' 

Mrs.  Inigo's  door  was  shut,  so  he  passed  out  to 
the  deck.  He  wished  to  avoid  Captain  Cammock, 
who  walked  the  poop  above  him.  Mr.  Cottrill, 
who  had  the  deck  at  the  moment,  was  forward 
with  the  boatswain,  setting  up  the  fore-backstays 
with  the  watch.  The  only  person  with  whom  he 
could  converse  was  Mr.  lies,  the  second  mate,  that 
smart  young  seaman,  who  now  sat  on  an  inverted 
wash-deck  tub,  in  the  lee  scuppers,  mending  a  pair 
of  trousers  which  he  had  taken  off  for  the  occasion. 
Puffs  of  wind  sometimes  lifted  his  shirt  skirts,  dis- 
playing his  little  wiry  legs.  The  sailmaker,  who 
sat  on  the  booby-hatch,  putting  a  new  clue  into 
a  royal,  was  telling  him,  at  each  puff,  to  mind  the 
girls  didn't  see. 

*  By  gee,'  said  Mr.  lies,  by  no  means  a  bashful 
man,  *  1  wouldn't  mind  if  der  girls  did  see.' 

'  They  don't  come  around  so  much  when  a  man 
gets  married,'  said  the  sailmaker.  '  They  get  shot 
in  the  beam  with  a  wet  rag.' 

'B'gee,'  said  Mr.  lies,  'I  don't  know.  Sails. 
B'gee,  I  seen  some  married  men  as  didn't  do  much 
shootin'.' 

'  It's  the  missus  does  the  shooting,'  said  Sails. 
'  I  know  there's  not  many  girls  come  whistling 
after  me  since  I  got  married.  But  you  young 
fellers,'  said  Sails,  '  you  think  of  nothing  else,  I  do 
believe,  except  the  gells  outside  Paddy's.' 

'  B'gee,'  said  Mr.  lies.  '  Dere  was  one  of  them 
girls  outside  Paddy's.    She  was  a  bute,  all  right,  all 

150 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

right.     She'd  got  a  fine  skin  on  her.     Gee.     Hey. 
Like  old  sail.' 

'  They  don't  last  at  it,'  said  Sails.  *  Five  years, 
they  say.  Then  they  get  froze,  down  Lavender 
Pond  way.  That  washes  the  poor  creatures'  rooge 
off.  But  there's  not  many  thinks  that  when  they 
come  ashore,  Mr.  lies.     Nor  you  don't  think  it.' 

'  B'gee,'  said  Mr.  lies,  as  he  stretched  his  leg  out 
into  the  sunlight.  '  That's  a  leg  all  right,  all 
right,'  he  said.  '  B'gee,  Sails,  I  don't  t'ink  you 
could  show  a  leg,  like  what  that  leg  is.' 

'  I  got  a  leg  as  I'd  show  alongside  of  any  man's,' 
said  Sails. 

'  Let's  see  your  leg,'  said  Mr.  lies.  '  B'gee, 
Sails,  you're  one  of  dese  consumptive  fellers.  You 
ain't  got  no  legs.' 

-  '  I  got  a  better  leg'n  you  got,'  said  Sails,  very 
touchy,  like  all  sailors,  on  the  subject  of  his  physical 
strength.     *  You  look  here,'  he  said. 

'  Mr.  Stukeley,'  cried  Mr.  lies,  standing  up 
excitedly.  ^  B'gee,  sir,  I  want  to  show  legs  with 
Sails  here.  Will  you  be  the  judge  between 
us?' 

Stukeley  had  seen  similar  contests  in  his  visits  to 
the  head  to  be  pumped  on  ;  but  he  had  hardly  ex- 
pected to  see  an  officer's  vanity  put  to  the  touch 
upon  the  quarter-deck.  *  It'll  annoy  old  Brandy- 
face,'  he  thought.  '  Yes,'  he  answered,  '  I'll  be  the 
judge.  But  don't  shock  old  Brandyface  on  the 
poop  there.'  He  said  this  in  the  hearing  of  Cap- 
tain Cammock,  who  paused  at  the  poop-rail,  looked 
down  on  their  preparations  with  an  unmoved  face, 
and  then  turned  to  walk  aft. 

*  B'gee,'  said  Mr.   lies.     *  It's   a    pity  our  girls 
151 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

ain't  here.    Dere's  some  girls'd  die  laughing  to  see 
us.     Come  on,  Sails.' 

Sails  extended  a  bared  leg  beside  him,  balancing, 
like  a  flamingo,  on  one  foot.  The  boatswain,  com- 
ing aft  for  a  sack  of  paunch-mats,  called  on  his 
maker  to  come  aft  and  watch. 

'  B'gee,  Sails,'  said  Mr.  lies,  looking  critically  at 
the  contesting  leg.  '  You  got  a  pretty  good  calf  all 
right,  all  right.' 

^  You've  been  woolded  pretty  well,  too,'  said 
Sails.  ^  You  could  keep  them  going,  for  a  little 
feller.' 

^  Them  little  fellers,'  said  the  boatswain  flatter- 
ingly. *  They  do  their  piece.  I  seen  little  fellers 
keep  them  going  when  the  rest  is  gone  dormy.' 
He  glanced  at  Stukeley,  to  see  how  Paris  would 
decide. 

^  Boatswain  strip,  too,'  suggested  Stukeley. 
^  Now,  bose.     Cock  up  your  leg  with  the  others.' 

The  boatswain  shook  his  head  with  a  laugh,  and 
went  back  to  his  work. 

'  B'gee,  sir,'  said  Mr.  lies,  '  the  old  bose  is 
jealous.  I'm  getting  cold,  b'gee.'  He  danced  a 
little  step  dance,  slapping  his  feet. 

'  You've  both  got  decent  legs,'  said  Stukeley, 
taking  the  hint.  '  Damn  good  legs.  But  you 
want  a  connoisseur  to  decide.    I'll  get  Mr.  Perrin  ! ' 

'  Make  him  measure  us,'  said  Mr.  lies. 

'  I  ain't  going  to  have  no  Mr.  Perrin,'  said  Sails, 
retiring.  '  My  legs  speaks  for  theirselves.  You 
got  no  legs,  Mr.  lies.  You  only  got  muscles.  What 
a  leg  wants  is  pathos  in  the  joints,  like  what  I  got.' 

'  B'gee,  Mr.  Stukeley,'  said  lies,  '  I  think  I  got 
old  Sails  to  the  bad.' 

152 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

^  Your  legs  are  like  mine,  Sails/  said  Stukeley. 
'  They  show  a  bit  old  alongside  a  fresh  young  buck 
like  Mr.  lies  here/ 

*Ah,  go  on,  sir,'  said  Sails.  'Them  legs  Mr. 
lies  got,  1  wouldn't  be  seen  dead  with.' 

Mr.  lies  stuck  his  needle  in  his  cap.  He 
yawned,  and  spurned  his  tub  into  the  scuppers. 
'  I'm  goin'  below  now,'  he  said.  *  I'll  have  a  bit  of 
a  fiddle  before  eight  bells.'  He  glanced  at  Stuke- 
ley,  who  seemed  willing  to  talk.  '  You've  never 
been  below  in  the  'tween-decks,  have  you,  sir  ? '  he 
said.  *  You  come  down  and  see  the  sights.  I  ain't 
got  much,  but  I  can  give  you  a  chair  and  a  look 
around.  Come  on  down  this  way,  sir.'  He  led 
the  way  down  the  booby-hatch,  into  the  'tween- 
decks,  where  the  light  from  the  boom-gratings  and 
the  open  hatch-mouths  made  sunny  places  in  the 
gloom.  A  lamp  or  two,  hung  under  the  quarter- 
deck, gave  light  to  the  after  part,  showing  a  few 
whitewashed,  jalousied  cabins  on  both  sides  of  the 
ship.  '  That's  the  round-house,'  said  lies,  nodding 
towards  the  port  side.  *The  idlers  live  in  the 
round-house.  Anybody  in  ^ '  he  cried,  shaking 
the  door.  *  There'll  only  be  the  cook  in  at  this 
time.  Rise  and  shine  there,  doctor.'  But  the 
doctor  was  down  in  the  forepeak  grubbing  up 
dunnage  for  firewood.  All  that  Stukeley  saw  of 
the  round-house  was  the  darkness  of  a  vault, 
through  which  gleamed  the  oil-cloth  on  a  table,  and 
the  paint  upon  a  sea-chest.  The  clue  of  a  hammock 
sloped  down  from  the  beams  just  above  his  head, 
like  the  crow's-foot  on  a  stay.  The  place  smelt  of 
oil  ;  for  the  lamp  had  been  allowed  to  burn  itself 
out.     *  Fine  dry  little  house,'  said  Mr.  lies.     *  Dry 

153 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

as  a  bone.  TheyVe  good  times  in  there,  them 
idlers.  This  is  where  me  and  Mr.  Cottrill  bunks. 
Over  here,  sir,  to  starboard.  Mind  them  bosun's 
stores  amidships.'  He  led  the  way  to  a  couple  of 
dingy  boxes  on  the  starboard  side.  They  were 
more  roomy  than  the  cabins  on  the  deck  above  ; 
but  they  gave  one  no  feeling  of  comfort.  Mr. 
Iles's  home  was  littered  with  second-mate's  stores. 
It  gave  out  the  penetrating,  homely  stink  of  spun- 
yarn.  Spare  log-lines  and  lead-lines  were  heaped 
in  a  spare  bunk.  From  the  beams  dangled  a  variety 
of  lamps,  and  bunches  of  thin  candles,  like  corpses' 
fingers.  His  oilskins  swung  behind  the  door,  and 
dripped  upon  an  old  swab  laid  below,  as  a  sort 
of  doormat.  '  I  been  oiling  up  my  skins,'  he 
explained.  '  Don't  it  stink,  hey  }  Stinks  like  hell, 
I  call  it.  Good  for  consumptives,  stink  is,  they 
say.     I  couldn't  ever  see  it  myself.' 

*  Do  you  get  your  meals  in  here  } '  said  Stukeley. 

'  Damn  that  boy,'  replied  Mr.  lies,  evidently 
searching  for  something.  ^  He  hasn't  put  my 
water-carafe  back.  He's  left  it  in  the  wardroom 
again.    Come  on  into  the  wardroom,  Mr.  Stukeley.' 

He  led  the  way  aft  to  the  wardroom,  which 
stretched  across  the  breadth  of  the  ship  right  aft. 
The  big  chase-ports  were  open,  so  that  the  room 
was  light.  One  could  see  the  grunting,  kicking 
rudder-head,  with  its  huge  blocks  for  the  relieving- 
tackles.  The  long  chase-guns  were  trained  athwart- 
ships,  and  securely  housed.  A  tablecloth  of  old 
soft  sail  was  thrown  across  one  of  them.  A  cleated 
table  stretched  athwartships  just  forward  of  it. 

The  table  was  rimmed  with  a  batten  to  keep  the 
plates  from  falling.     '  Here's  my  water-carafe,'  said 

154 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

Mr.  lies.  '  Sit  down,  Mr.  Stukeley.  Til  fetch  you 
the  rum  and  a  pannikin.  We  ain't  got  much.  But 
you  may  as  well  have  what  there  is.'  From  the 
adjoining  wardroom  pantry  he  produced  a  bottle  of 
rum,  about  half  full,  and  a  couple  of  tin  pannikins. 
Mr.  lies  held  the  bottle  against  the  light  to  observe 
the  level  of  the  spirit.  He  also  sniffed  at  the 
mouth  after  removing  the  cork.  '  I  have  to  watch 
that  boy,'  he  explained.  *  He  likes  his  little  dollop 
a  bit  too  well.  I  don't  think  he's  been  at  this 
though.  Does  it  seem  to  you's  though  it  been 
watered  } ' 

*  No,  sir,'  said  Stukeley,  swallowing  his  allow- 
ance. ^  It's  very  sound  spirit.  Wants  another 
year  in  cask  perhaps.  How  much  of  this  do  you 
get  a  day  ? ' 

*  Half  a  pint's  the  whack,'  said  Mr.  lies,  '  but 
I  don't  touch  my  whack  the  first  month,  till  the 
water  slimes.  Then  I've  a  matter  of  three  gallons 
saved,  in  case  I  get  company  come.  Have  another 
go,  Mr.  Stukeley  } ' 

*  Thank  you,'  said  Stukeley,  holding  out  his 
pannikin.  *  Here's  to  old  Brandyface,  our  bold 
commander.' 

'  Old  Cap  Hammock,'  said  lies,  twitching  the  left 
side  of  his  upper  lip  in  the  smile  peculiar  to  him. 

*  What  do  you  think  of  old  Brandyface  ? '  said 
Stukeley.     '  Perhaps  you're  used  to  pirates  ? ' 

*  What's  pirates  got  to  do  with  it } '  said  Mr. 
lies.  '  Drink  hearty,  sir.  I  got  a  demijohn  in  the 
spare  bunk  there.  What's  pirates  got  to  do 
with  it.?' 

'  Well.  There's  old  Brandyface  in  the  cabin,  isn't 
there  ? ' 

155 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  Old  Cap  Hammock  ain't  no  pirate  ?  * 

^  Wasn't  he  ?  He  was  damned  near  hung  for  it. 
Not  so  long  ago,  either.' 

^  Is  that  so  ? '  said  lies.  '  Is  that  so,  now  ? 
Straight .? ' 

'  He's  only  an  old  buccaneer.  What  d'you  think 
of  the  old  boy  ? ' 

^  I  ain't  paid  to  think,'  said  Mr.  lies  evasively. 
'  Gee.  I  didn't  know  he  was  that  sort.  I  wish 
I'd  known.' 

'Why?' 

'  Here.  You  ain't  doing  your  piece.  You  want 
to  do  better'n  that.     Lay  aft  with  your  pannikin.' 

'  He  was  one  of  the  gang  which  worked  in  the 
South  Seas,'  said  Stukeley.  *  You  know  the  sort 
of  thing  they  did.  Ruffians.  He  was  at  it  all  his 
life.' 

'  I  wish  I'd  known.     Gee.     Hey  ? ' 

'  Why  ? ' 

'  Here,  fill  fair.     Fill  fair.* 

*  You'll  make  me  cocked.' 

*  Cock  in  your  eye,  sir.     Lap  the  cream  of  it.' 

'  He's  a  nice  one  to  have  command  of  a  ship. 
Eh  .? ' 

'  So  he  was  nothing  but  an  old  pirate  ^     Gee.' 

'  What  sort  of  an  old  man  is  he  to  work 
with?' 

'I  wish  I'd  known.   B'gee,  sir,  I'd  have What 

sort  is  he  ?  He  don't  know  nothing.  He's  only 
an  old  woman.  He  cain't  knot  a  rope-yarn.  If 
I'd  known,  I'd  have ' 

'  What  would  you  have  ? ' 

'  He  got  fresh  with  me  one  time.  He  give  me 
the  slack  of  his  old  lip,  about  leaving  the  harness- 

156 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

cask  unlocked.  I'd  have  called  him  down  if  I'd 
known.  I  don't  let  any  old  pirate  get  gay  with  me. 
See.?" 

'  He's  a  dirty  old  swine,'  said  Stukeley.  '  He 
and  those  damned  old  women  your  owners.' 

'  That  Perrin's  a  bute,  for  fair,  hey  } ' 

*  They  make  a  nice  trio  to  leave  your  wife  alone 
with.' 

'  Your  wife's  a  peach,  I  guess.     Hey  ? ' 

*  If  she  is,  she's  a  green  one.  Give  us  the  bottle 
there.' 

'  Is  it  true  the  Margaret  fellow's  sweet  on  her  } ' 

^  Who  ?  Oh,  that  little  crawler.  There's  a  pic- 
ture of  a  man.' 

'  I  never  had  much  truck  with  him.  His  look's 
enough  for  me.' 

'  For  me,  too.  Look  here,  lies.  I'm  sick  of  the 
company  in  the  cabin.  That  old  pirate,  and  those 
two  twisters,  and  my  wife  sitting  up  like  a  cold 
jelly.  Ah.  Good  luck.  Sick  of  it.  You  come 
up  and  have  supper  with  us  to-night.  And  bring 
your  fiddle.' 

'  I  guess  old  Brandyface'd  raise  a  stink.' 

*  If  he  does,  we'll  call  him  down.  He's  not 
going  to  dictate  my  guests  to  me.  I'll  have  in  any 
one  I  like.' 

*  Gee.     That  would  be  great.     Hey  } ' 

'  I'm  not  going  to  let  an  old  pirate  say  who's  to 
be  my  friends.' 

^  He'll  heave  me  quit  of  the  cabin.' 

*  I'll  heave  him  if  he  does.     Pretty  quick.* 

'  Gee.  I'd  like  to  come.  But  he'll  be  mad  as 
hell.' 

*  All  the  better.     And  those  two  twisters,  too.' 

157 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  That  Perrin.  Hey  ?  He  asked  me  one  time 
what  I  did  to  make  my  hair  grow/ 

^  He's  about  the  damnedest  fool  I've  met.' 

^  Have  another  ball.  There's  one  bell.  It'll  be 
my  watch  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.' 

'  You'll  come,  then  "^ ' 

'Oh,  I'll  come.  But  gee,  Mr.  Stukeley,  old 
Brandyco'll  fire  me.' 

'  We'll  have  a  bit  of  sport  if  he  does.  Bring 
your  fiddle.  Oh.  Let's  have  a  song.  Let's  sing 
"Tickle  Toby."' 

'  No.  I  don't  know  it  well  enough.  Let's  have 
this  one  about  the  sailor's  wives.  D'you  know  this 
one  .? ' 

Until  eight  bells  were  made,  Mr.  lies  sang  to 
Mr.  Stukeley,  who  joined  in  the  choruses,  and 
sometimes  offered  a  solo.  The  songs  were  all  vile. 
They  were  the  product  of  dirty  drinking-bars,  and 
dirty  young  men.  Youth  sometimes  affects  such 
songs,  and  such  haunts,  from  that  greed  for 
life  which  is  youth's  great  charm  and  peril.  That 
men  of  mature  experience  should  sing  them,  enjoy- 
ing them,  after  tasting  of  life's  bounty,  was  hateful, 
and  also  pitiful,  as  though  a  dog  should  eat  a  child. 
The  couple  went  on  deck  together  at  eight  bells, 
singing  their  scrannel  for  the  mustering  crew  to  hear. 

A  few  minutes  before  his  watch  was  up,  Mr.  lies 
gave  the  deck  to  the  boatswain,  and  went  below 
to  dress.  It  was  not  his  day  for  a  first  wash,  but 
Mr.  Cottrill  gave  him  the  first  turn  of  the  basin 
(it  contained  about  a  pint)  on  promise  of  a  plug  of 
tobacco  at  the  next  issue  of  slops.  Mr.  lies  washed 
himself  carefully,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Cottrill's  com- 
plaint that  water  so  soapy  would  hardly  serve  the 

158 


A  SUPPER   PARTY 

second  comer,  let  alone  the  boy,  who  had  the 
reversion  of  it  after  him.  After  washing,  he  combed 
his  hair,  put  on  his  best  suit,  gave  his  shoes  a  rub 
of  lamp-black,  took  his  fiddle  from  its  case,  and 
went  on  deck  to  muster  his  watch  at  four  bells. 
A  few  moments  after  four  bells,  while  the  dismissed 
starboard  watch  went  whooping  forward  to  supper, 
the  steward  rang  the  cabin  bell,  and  Stukeley  met 
his  guest  at  the  alleyway  door. 

'Come  in,'  said  Stukeley.  'Before  old  Brandy- 
nose  comes  aft.* 

They  passed  aft  into  the  cabin. 

Margaret,  Perrin,  and  Olivia  were  already  seated 
when  they  entered.  Mrs.  Inigo  stood  behind  Cap- 
tain Cammock's  empty  chair,  waiting  to  take  the 
covers.  She  was  looking  with  contempt  at  the 
wife  she  had  supplanted,  thinking  her  a  confident, 
pale,  thin-lipped  thing,  and  wondering  what  her 
husband  could  have  seen  in  her.  Captain  Cammock 
had  been  delayed  for  a  moment,  having  cut  his  chin 
while  shaving.  When  Stukeley  entered  Perrin  was 
talking  to  Olivia. 

'  For  whom  is  the  place  there  } '  he  was  saying, 
nodding  towards  the  napkin  opposite  to  him. 

'  Why,  we're  laid  for  six,'  she  answered. 

*  Yes,'  said  Stukeley.  '  Olivia,  let  me  introduce 
Mr.  lies.  Mr.  lies  has  come  to  give  us  a  little 
music' 

Olivia,  rather  startled  (for  she  had  seen  Mr.  lies 
about  the  decks,  dressed  like  a  seaman,  and  doing 
seaman's  work,  with  much  foul  language),  glanced 
at  the  man  and  made  a  little  cold  bow,  dropping 
her  eyes  to  her  plate  as  Mr.  lies  advanced,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand. 

159 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'This  is  Mr.  lies,  Captain  Margaret/  Stukeley 
grinned  to  see  Captain  Margaret's  anger  plainly 
show  itself  for  a  moment.  But  he  had  misjudged 
his  victim's  power  of  self-control.  Margaret's  face 
instantly  became  impassive.  He  stared  rather  hard 
at  Mr.  lies,  inclined  his  head  in  a  little  cold  bow, 
and  wished  him  '  Good  evening,'  the  only  words 
which  occurred  to  him,  in  a  little  cold  voice. 

'  Hell,'  said  Stukeley  to  himself.  '  I  ought  to  have 
introduced  Perrin  first.  Now  Pilly'll  take  his  cue 
from  Maggy.' 

'  Mr.  Perrin  I  think  you  know,'  he  continued 
aloud.     *  You  sit  over  here,  Mr.  lies,  by  me.' 

Perrin  looked  at  Mr.  lies  and  blushed,  partly 
with  anger  at  having  to  meet  the  man,  partly  at  the 
slight  put  upon  them  all,  upon  Olivia  even,  by 
Stukeley's  invitation.  Mr.  lies  for  the  moment  was 
dashed  by  the  chill  of  his  reception,  and  awed  by  the 
circumstance  of  the  cabin  dinner.  His  thought,  for 
a  few  chaotic  seconds,  was  what  in  blazes  to  do 
with  the  napkin.  Did  it  go  round  the  neck,  or 
how  }  Olivia  felt  that  the  coldness  of  Margaret 
and  Perrin  was  in  some  sort  a  reflection  upon  her 
husband  ;  it  nettled  her  to  defend  Mr.  lies  against 
her  will.  She  guessed  that  Mr.  lies  must  be  a  fine 
musician,  that  her  husband  had  discovered  his 
talent,  and  had  decided,  it  was  just  like  her  dear 
Tom,  that  his  talent  made  him  a  fit  companion  for 
her.  She  would  talk  to  Tom  about  it  that  night, 
however,  as  there  might  be  unpleasantness  to 
them  all  if  Mr.  lies  were  to  be  admitted  to  the 
cabin  even  occasionally.  Even  Mrs.  Inigo  seemed 
to  be  sniffing  with  contempt.  Had  she  known  it, 
the  negro  steward  was  at  that  instant  spreading  the 

1 60 


A  SUPPER   PARTI" 

news  in  the  round-house,  where  Sails  proposed  that 
the  company  should  go  on  deck  to  hear  Captain 
Cammock  at  the  moment  of  his  introduction. 
Olivia's  reflections  lasted  for  a  few  seconds.  She 
seemed  to  pass  over  the  whole  situation  in  an 
instant  of  time.  Mr.  lies  had  hardly  sat  down, 
hiding  his  hands  below  the  table,  when  Olivia, 
as  though  divining  his  thoughts,  came  to  his  rescue, 
by  bending  forward  graciously,  taking  up  her  nap- 
kin (it  was  folded  in  the  likeness  of  a  sea-boot),  and 
spreading  it,  unfolded,  upon  her  lap.  Perrin,  who 
was  watching  her,  guessed  her  intention.  His 
natural  kindness  gave  him  a  sort  of  pity  for  Mr. 
lies,  whom  he  judged  (from  his  confusion)  to  be  an 
unwilling  agent.  He  leaned  across  towards  him, 
and  made  some  remark  likely  to  put  him  at  his 
ease. 

'  D'you  know  whether  we're  in  soundings  yet, 
Mr.  lies  .? ' 

'  No,  sir,'  said  Mr.  lies.  *  They  won't  make  no 
cast  of  der  lead  till  der  middle  watch.' 

^  What  sort  of  a  run  has  it  been  to-day  } '  asked 
Olivia. 

^  It's  been  a  good  run,  miss,  all  right,  all  right,* 
he  answered,  growing  confident.  '  We  done  seven 
knots  ever  since  der  forenoon.' 

'Just  step  forward,  Mrs.  Inigo,'  said  Margaret, 
'and  ask  Captain  Cammock  if  we  shall  begin  with- 
out him  ? ' 

'  I'll  go,'  said  Perrin. 

'  No.     I'll  go,  sir,'  said  Mrs.  Inigo. 

'  You  look  pale,  Maggy,'  said  Stukeley.  *  Any- 
thing wrong  .? ' 

'Thanks.  I'm  particularly  well.  Are  you  well .? ' 
M  i6i 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Very,  thanks.  You  look  annoyed  about  some- 
thing.   Doesn't  he,  lies  } ' 

*  You  don't  look  quite  right  to  me,  sir,'  said  lies. 
'  Really.' 

'Captain  Cammock  will  be  here  in  a  minute, 
sir.' 

'  Let's  begin,'  said  Olivia.     '  I'm  hungry.' 

*  Take  the  cover,'  said  Margaret. 

'  B'gee,  sir,'  said  lies.  '  You  don't  know  sailors, 
or  you  wouldn't  do  a  ting  like  that.' 

'  Why  shouldn't  I  ^ '  said  Margaret,  hoping  to 
get  some  scrap  of  knowledge  to  atone  for  his 
irritation.    'Tell  me  what  I've  done  wrong,  please  ?  * 

'  Taken  der  cover  off  der  soup,'  said  Mr.  lies. 

'  Is  that  a  great  crime  at  sea  ? '  said  Olivia. 

'  It's  the  old  man's  perk,'  said  Mr.  lies.  '  B'gee. 
1  was  in  a  turtler  once,  off  of  the  Grand  Cays  there. 
I  done  that  once.  I  didn't  do  it  a  second  time. 
No,  sir.' 

'  What  did  they  do  to  you  } '  said  Olivia. 

'  He  give  me  der  lid  for  me  supper,  lady.' 

*  How  old  were  you  then  } '  said  Perrin. 

'  A  young  one,'  said  lies.  '  My  old  pop  was  the 
old  man  in  that  ship.' 

'  Your  old .? ' 

'  My  pop.     The  old  one.     My  father.' 

'  Tell  us  one  of  those  stories  you  were  spinning 
me  this  afternoon,  lies,'  said  Stukeley.  '  That  one 
about  the  girl.  You  know.  The  girl.  The  girl 
who ' 

'Which  girl.?'  said  Mr.  lies.  'I  don't  know 
which  girl  you  mean.' 

'  The  girl  outside  Paddy's.  Mr.  lies  is  a  won- 
derful raconteur,'  he  explained.     '  He's  like  an  old 

162 


A  SUPPER   PARTY 

sailor,  you  know.  Excellent.  He  told  me  some 
this  afternoon.' 

'  What  sort  of  stories  do  you  tell } '  Olivia 
asked. 

'Just  amusing  stories  to  pass  the  time,  miss,'  he 
answered. 

'  Do  you  make  them  up  yourself } ' 

'  Some  of  them  1  seen  myself,  miss,'  he  answered. 

*  I  don't  know  who  makes  the  others  up.     Some 

son  of  a Some  gentleman's  son  with  nothing 

better  to  do.  But  b'gee,  I  don't  tink  I  could  tell 
one  of  them  kind  here  exactly.' 

'  Why  not  } '  asked  Captain  Margaret,  looking  at 
him  coldly.     '  Why  couldn't  you  } ' 
'  I  guess  you  know,  all  right,  all  right.' 

*  1  don't  frequent  pothouses.  So  perhaps  I  don't 
know.' 

*  That's  where  you  sentimental  prigs  go  wrong,' 
said  Stukeley,  flaring  up.  '  It'd  do  you  a  sight  of 
good  if  you  did  frequent  pothouses.  You  meet 
better  people  in  a  pothouse  than  you  do  in  one 
of  your  Chelsea  twaddle-shops.' 

'  I  don't  understand  you,'  said  Margaret  calmly. 

*  What  is  a  Chelsea  twaddle-shop,  Olivia  }  You've 
stayed  at  Chelsea.     What  is  it .''     A  book-shop  ? ' 

Olivia  smiled.  Captain  Margaret  was  like  her 
dead  brother  ;  he  did  not  show  temper  even  when 
people  spoke  to  rouse  him.  She  defined  the  offend- 
ing shop. 

*  It's  a  name  Tom  gives  to  houses  in  Chelsea, 
like  my  aunt  Pile's  house.  Where  the  people 
talk  a  good  deal  of  poetry  and  painting.  Where 
you  meet  intellectual  people.' 

'  Don't  you  like  intellectual  people,  Stukeley  ? ' 
163 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

M  don't  like  prigs,  and  I  don't  like  blue- 
stockings, and  I  don't  like ' 

*  People  who  care  for  beautiful  things  ?  Is 
that  it?' 

*  A  lot  of  mewing  old  women  who  ought  to  be 
in  a  rook-shop.' 

^  What's  a  rook-shop  ? '  said  Olivia. 

*  A  monastery,  my  dear.  A  monk  or  nun  house. 
Somewhere  where  they  could  mew  and  caw  their 
silly  hearts  out.  Beauty.  Eh }  Beauty.  I've 
heard  'em  talk  about  beauty.  What  do  they  know 
about  beauty  ? ' 

'  There's  nothing  in  poetry  and  that,'  said  Mr. 
lies,  rallying  to  his  patron.  'What's  the  good 
of  it  ?  It's  unpractical  stuff.  B'gee,  der  poets 
should  come  to  sea.  I'd  show  'em  what  to  write 
about.' 

*  What  would  you  show  them  } '  said  Perrin. 

'  Show  them  ? '  said  Mr.  lies.  *  I'd  show  them 
what  a  man  is,  for  one  thing.' 

'  And  what  is  a  man  ? '  said  Margaret. 

'  He  ain't  an  old  woman,  anyway,'  said  Mr.  lies. 

*  I  don't  want  to  know  what  he  isn't.  I  want  to 
know  what  he  is.     What  is  a  man  V 

'  A  felly  what  can  do  his  piece,  and  stick  it  out. 
A  man  who  won't  hang  back,  or  lie  up,  or  give  you 
no  lip.' 

*  You  would  like  the  world  composed  of  such 
men  ? ' 

'  B'gee  I  would.     You're  right.' 

*  And  you,  Stukeley  } ' 

'  I'd  like  my  dinner  in  peace,  without  a  lot  of 
cross-examination.  Talk  about  beauty  with  Perrin 
there.     He  likes  to  hear  you.     I  don't.' 

164 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

*  No/  said  Perrin.  '  No,  Stukeley.  I  shouldn't 
think  you  ever  liked  to  hear  of  anything  noble.* 

*  Noble.  Good  Lord.  I  hope  I  spend  my  time 
better.  You  two  seem  to  think  because  you  read 
a  few  half-tipped  writers  like  yourselves,  you're  free 
to  judge  everybody  else.' 

'Well,'  said  Margaret.  'And  don't  you  judge 
everybody  else  ?  Better  judge,  I  think,  with  some 
knowledge  of  the  law.' 

'  Don't  lose  your  temper  about  it.  You're  such 
a  funny  devil.' 

'  Mr.  lies,'  said  Olivia,  in  order  to  create  a  diver- 
sion. '  Have  you  ever  been  in  Virginia,  in  any  of 
your  voyages  } ' 

'  Yes,  miss.     I  been  there  two  or  three  times.' 

'  Tell  us  about  it,  Mr.  lies,'  said  Margaret. 
'  Were  you  there  at  the  time  of  the  rebellion  ? ' 

'  I  was  there  just  after.' 

'  What  was  the  cause  of  the  rebellion  } '  Olivia 
asked.  '  It  was  hushed  up,  in  England.  But  a 
man  I  once  met  told  me  that  it  was  a  very  terrible 
thing.  You  remember  Charles  Myngs,  Charles  ? 
He  was  one  of  the  rebels.' 

'  I  know.  He  was  very  lucky  to  get  away.  The 
rebellion  was  caused  by  the  action  of  a  wise,  far- 
seeing  young  man,  who  objected  to  paying  taxes  to, 
and  being  governed  by,  a  body  of  wiseacres  three 
thousand  miles  away,  who  gave  nothing  in  return, 
except  expensive  impositions.' 

'  You  talk  like  a  rebel  yourself,'  said  Stukeley. 
*  I  suppose  you  sympathize  with  them  } ' 

'  Most  certainly  1  do.' 

'  But  to  go  against  the  King,'  said  Olivia.  'And 
to  cause  all  that  bloodshed.' 

165 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  The  King,'  said  lies,  with  contempt.  '  I  don't 
see  what  you  English  fellies  want  with  a  king. 
What  good  is  a  king  to  you,  anyway  ?  I  seen  him 
once.  I  wouldn't  own  to  a  man  like  the  one  I 
seen.     King  James,  hey  } ' 

At  this  moment.  Captain  Cammock  entered, 
stuffing  a  handkerchief  between  his  white  stock 
and  his  neck,  to  arrest  the  blood  dripping  from  the 
gash.  Stukeley  grinned,  and  watched  him,  waiting 
for  the  explosion.  He  did  not  know  that  Cammock 
had  guessed  Stukeley's  plan  on  hearing  Mr.  Iles's 
shrill  voice  when  Mrs.  Inigo  opened  the  cabin 
door,  so  that  she  might  carry  off  the  soup.  He 
was  angry  with  Stukeley  ;  but  he  was  far  more 
angry  with  his  little  second  mate.  His  first  impulse 
had  been  to  enter,  and  fling  Mr.  lies  through  the 
stern-window.  Then  he  thought  that  that  was 
what  Stukeley  and  lies  had  planned  between  them, 
and  expected.  The  possibility  of  the  fiddle  occurred 
to  him.  It  was  just  possible  that  Olivia  had  asked 
for  a  tune,  not  knowing,  how  could  she  know,  of 
the  captain's  pride  of  place  in  old  sea-custom.  She 
was  a  fine,  delicate  lady.  He  wouldn't  demean 
himself  before  her,  by  noticing  any  silly  little  slight, 
devised  by  a  crawler  and  a  cur.  He  smiled  into 
his  shaving-glass,  as  he  dabbed  away  the  blood, 
thinking  that  his  old  days  as  a  man  of  war  had 
taught  him  a  little  prudence.  He  referred  most  of 
his  daily  problems,  such  as  they  were,  to  their 
equivalents  on  the  larger  stage  of  war.  Once  or 
twice,  he  thought,  the  Spaniards  had  tempted  them, 
to  make  them  attack,  but  only  the  '  mad,  swearing, 
flashy  fellows '  were  caught  in  that  way.  It  was 
better  to  go  by  the  difficult  road  ;  it  proved  the 

i66 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

easier  in  the  end.  He  would  settle  with  Mr.  lies 
later  on. 

He  went  to  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
and  made  some  apology  to  Olivia. 

'I'm  sorry  to  be  so  late,  Mrs.  Stukeley.' 

*  Have  you  hurt  yourself?  I  hope  youVe  not 
cut  yourself  badly.' 

*No.  No.  It  just  bleeds.  I  upset  the  alum  I 
had,  last  week.  Good  evening,  sir.  Good  even- 
ing, mister.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Perrin.  May  I 
give  you  a  bit  more  beef,  Mr.  lies  }  I  won't  have 
any  soup,  thank  you,  stewardess.  Bring  me  the 
bread-barge.  Well,  Mrs.  Stukeley.  We'll  soon 
see  Virginia  at  this  rate.  Very  soon.  We  might 
sight  the  cruiser  at  any  time.' 

*  What  is  the  cruiser  } '  Olivia  asked. 

*  She's  a  man-of-war,  Mrs.  Stukeley.  She  cruises 
up  and  down  between  the  two  Capes.' 

*  B'gee,  Captain  Cammock,'  said  Mr.  lies.  *  I 
should  a  thought  you'd  a  known  better'n  to  expect 
to  see  her  for  another  week.' 

'Would   you,    mister.'''    he    answered.      'They 
make  a  wide  sweep  at  this  time  of  year.' 
'  How  do  you  know  } '  put  in  Stukeley. 

*  They  come  away  out  to  look  for  pirates.  The 
pirates  come  around  at  this  season,  Mr.  Stukeley, 
to  look  for  the  English  merchantmen.' 

'  Well.  Mr.  lies  knows  Virginia,  and  he  says 
they  don't.' 

'  I  can't  help  that.     Can  I  ? ' 

'  Is  there  any  chance  of  the  pirates  attacking 
us  } '  Olivia  asked. 

'  I  should  pity  any  pirate  that  tries.' 

'  Dog  doesn't  eat  dog,'  said  Stukeley.  '  Our 
167 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

captain  here's  a  pirate  himself.  He'll  give  his  old 
friends  the  wink.' 

'  Was  you  really  a  pirate,  Captain  Cammock  } ' 
said  Mr.  lies. 

Olivia  stared  at  the  captain  curiously. 

^  Take  away  the  beef,  stewardess,'  he  said  in  a 
natural  tone,  ignoring  the  question.  '  Steward. 
Steward  there.  You  may  take  away.  Mrs.  Stukeley, 
I  hope  you'll  give  us  a  song  afterwards.  If  you'll 
give  us  a  song,  and  Mr.  lies  a  tune  on  his  fiddle, 
I'll  bring  in  another  treat,  and  we'll  all  be  merry.' 

*  What  treat  have  you  for  us,  captain  } '  asked 
Margaret. 

'  I've  got  a  box  of  raisin-candy,  from  Ilo,  in 
Peru,'  he  answered.  '  It's  said  to  be  a  great  dainty  ; 
but  some  people  find  it  too  sweet.  But  only  if  you 
sing,  Mrs.  Stukeley.' 

'  Oh,  I'll  sing.  I  haven't  sung  for  a  week  now.  I 
shall  be  delighted  to  sing.' 

*And  you'll  sing,  too,  Mr.  Stukeley  ?' 

*  Oh,  I  vote  we  don't  sing.  Let's  have  cards. 
There's  no  sense  in  caterwauling.' 

*  I  got  a  fine  song,'  said  Mr.  lies,  taking  a  pull 
at  his  glass  of  spirits. 

^  What  song  is  that  ? '  said  Perrin. 

*The  lament  of  the  old  buccaneer,  it's  called. 
It's  about  a  pirate  who  was  hanged.  B'gee.  He'd 
been  captain  in  a  merchant  ship  after.  But  they 
hung  him.' 

Captain  Cammock  asked  the  company  if  they 
would  have  any  more  duff.  He  himself  had  had 
more  than  enough. 

'  Look  at  him  blushing,'  said  Stukeley,  nudging 
lies. 

i68 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

At  this  moment,  there  came  loud  cries  from  the 
deck,  of '  Watch  there.  Watch,*  shouted  by  many 
voices  cheerily.  Then  there  were  cries  of '  Haul  in. 
Haul  in.  Haul  in.  Snatch  it  and  run  her  up.* 
Then  a  silence,  a  sudden  stamp  of  feet,  and  the 
voice  of  some  one  asking  what  was  on  the  arming. 
'  Sand  and  small  shells,'  came  the  answer  of  the 
boatswain.  The  diners  at  the  cabin  table  seemed 
to  see  the  man  raising  the  heavy  plummet  to  show 
the  spoils  stuck  upon  the  grease.  '  Land  o-o-o-h,' 
he  cried.  '  Land  o-o-o-h.  Hooray.'  Then  the 
seamen,  gathered  in  the  waist,  with  the  redness  of 
the  sunset  on  them,  cast  loose  a  gun  at  Mr.  CottrilFs 
order.  As  the  cook,  coming  from  the  galley  with 
a  red-hot  poker,  called  to  the  men  to  stand  clear  of 
the  breech.  Captain  Cammock  bowed  to  Olivia, 
raising  his  glass. 

'Mrs.  Stukeley,'  he  said,  'we're  in  soundings. 
Your  very  good  health.  Soundings,  gentlemen. 
You  must  all  drink  to  soundings.  Now  then. 
There  goes  the  gun.  Three  cheers.'  There  were 
no  cheers  in  Stukeley,  though  he  drank  the  toast. 

Half  an  hour  later,  after  hearing  a  few  songs, 
and  a  jig  upon  the  fiddle.  Captain  Cammock  sat 
smoking  in  his  cabin.  He  struck  his  gong  to  call 
the  steward.  'Ask  Mr.  lies  to  come  here,  please  }^ 
In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  lies  appeared,  followed  by 
Stukeley,  who  had  expected  the  summons.  '  Mr. 
Stukeley,'  said  the  captain,  '  I  shall  be  pleased  to 
see  you  later.  I  wish  to  talk  with  Mr.  lies  a 
moment.' 

'  Thank  you,'  said  Stukeley.  '  But  I  wish  to  hear 
what  you've  got  to  say  to  Mr.  lies.' 

169 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  It  doesn't  concern  you,  Mr.  Stukeley.'  Mr. 
lies  tittered. 

'  Mr.  lies  is  my  friend/  said  Stukeley.  *  I'll 
make  it  concern  me.' 

'  Mr.  Stukeley.  I  don't  wish  to  be  rude.  But  I 
command  here.     There's  the  door.' 

'  To  hell  with  the  door.' 

'  Go  on  deck,  Mr.  lies,  till  I  send  for  you.' 

^  Stay  here,  lies.    Look  here,  my  old  pirate ' 

'  Did  you  hear  my  order,  Mr.  lies  ? ' 

'No.' 

*  No,  he  didn't  hear.  He's  accustomed  to  being 
ordered  by  gentlemen.     He's  not  used  to  pirates.' 

'  I'll  repeat  my  order.  Go  on  deck,  Mr.  lies, 
and  wait  there  till  I  send  for  you.' 

'  Don't  you  do  it,  lies.  I'm  damned  if  I'd  take 
an  order  of  that  sort.' 

'  Do  you  hear  me,  Mr.  lies  } ' 

'  B  gee,  cap,  you'll  speak  to  me  like  you'd  speak 
to  any  one  else.  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  called  down  by 
any  old  pirate.' 

Cammock  rose,  breathing  rather  hard,  but  speak- 
ing very  quietly. 

'  Go  on  deck,'  he  said. 

'He's  my  guest,'  said  Stukeley,  'and  it's  his 
watch  below.     I'm  damned  if  he  shall  go  on  deck.' 

'  Are  you  going,  Mr.  lies  '^,  ' 

'  Ah,  git  ter  hell.' 

'Don't  you  hit  him,'  said  Stukeley,  as  Captain 
Cammock  picked  up  his  little  gong-hammer. 

'  Hit  me  .? '  said  lies.  '  Hit  me  ?  B'gee,  cap, 
you  hit  me  and  I'll  mark  you  for  life  all  right,  all 
right.' 

'  I'm  not  going  to  do  any  hitting,  Mr.  Stukeley,' 

170 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

said  Cammock  quietly.  He  went  to  the  gong  and 
struck  it  softly  till  the  steward  came. 

'  Send  the  boatswain  to  me,'  said  Cammock. 

'  I  will,  seh.' 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  *  said  Stukeley. 
Captain  Cammock  relit  his  pipe  at  the  lamp, 
stopping  the  red  fragments  with  his  thumb.  The 
boatswain  knocked  at  the  door,  cap  in  hand. 

*  Call  all  hands  aft,  boatswain.* 

'  What  der  hell .? '  said  Mr.  lies,  as  the  call 
sounded.  The  men  came  hurrying  aft,  swearing 
at  having  their  dog-watch  spoiled.  Some  of  them 
were  half  clad,  just  out  of  their  hammocks  ;  others 
were  buttoning  their  clothes.  In  the  last  of  the 
daylight,  in  the  glow  which  gives  a  holy  beauty  to 
all  things,  they  seemed  a  strange  company.  Just 
so  will  the  assembling  souls  look,  when  the  heavens 
crinkle  into  flame,  as  the  triumphing  clarion  shrills, 
bringing  together  the  awed,  the  sullen,  the  ex- 
pectant. 

'Muster  your  watch,  Mr.  lies.* 

*  No.  We'll  settle  it  here,'  said  Stukeley,  think- 
ing that  the  cabin  was  safer  for  his  purpose  than 
the  deck.     '  We'll  settle  it  here,  old  Brandyco.' 

Cammock  brushed  past  him  and  went  on  to  the 
poop,  without  replying.  lies,  much  puzzled,  was 
about  to  follow. 

'  Don't  go,'  said  Stukeley.  *•  I  wouldn't  go. 
Don't  go.     I'll  make  it  square  for  you.' 

'  B'gee,  I'd  better  go,'  said  lies.  '  I  don't  know 
what  game  he's  up  to,  do  I  hell  ?  ' 

He  went  on  deck,  to  the  starboard  side,  where 
he  began  to  muster  his  watch.  Mr.  Cottrill's 
voice,  much  more  slow  and  grave  than  his,  made 

171 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

a  strange  echo  with  him,  each  calling  a  name  in 
turn,  each  drawing  a  response  from  a  voice  of 
different  pitch.  '  Shepherd.'  *  Here,  sir.'  '  Arnold.' 
'  Here,  sir.'  ^  Richard  Arnold.'  *  Here,  sir.'  '  John 
Wise.'  ^  Present,  sir.'  '  Adams.'  '  At  the  wheel, 
sir.'  Then  the  reports  :  *  Port  watch  all  present, 
sir,  except  the  wheel  and  look-outs.'  '  Starboard 
watch  all  present,  sir.'  '  Idlers  and  boys  all  present, 
sir  ' ;  followed  by  Captain  Cammock's  '  Very  well,' 
as  he  paced  to  and  fro  across  the  forward  end  of 
the  poop.  Captain  Margaret  stood  with  Perrin  by 
the  poop-bell,  with  their  hats  off,  out  of  deference 
to  Captain  Cammock.  They  stood  still  in  their 
most  splendid  clothes,  just  as  they  had  risen  from 
the  feast.  They  looked  down  on  all  the  u^  turned 
faces  a  few  feet  beneath  them,  wondering  at  the 
beauty  of  the  scene,  lit  now,  by  the  dying  sun, 
into  a  glow,  that  made  each  face  glorious.  Still 
Captain  Cammock  walked  to  and  fro,  casting  a  con- 
temptuous glance  as  he  turned  ;  his  face  set  and 
passionless  ;  his  eyes  taking  in  each  face  of  all  the 
crowd.  Stukeley,  who  had  followed  his  friend  on 
deck,  asked  Margaret  if  he  was  going  to  lead  in 
prayer  ;  but  he  got  no  answer  ;  and  the  men,  im- 
pressed and  puzzled,  did  not  titter.  Cammock 
stopped  in  his  walk,  and  looked  over  the  poop-rail 
at  the  crew. 

^  Thomas  lies,'  he  said. 

'  Sir,'  said  lies,  turning  and  looking  up. 

'  I  break  you,  for  refusing  duty.' 

< What,  sir.?'  ) 

*  Mr.  Cottrill.' 
'  Sir.' 

*  Put  the  man  lies  in  your  watch.' 

172 


A  SUPPER  PARTY 

^  Very  good,  sir.* 

'  lies,  go  below  and  get  your  chest.  Take  it 
forward  to  the  fo'c's'le.  You  belong  to  Mr. 
Cottrill's  watch.' 

'  What  the  hell ' — began  Stukeley. 

'  Silence,  please.' 

'  I  ain't  goin'  to  take  no  break  from  you,'  said  lies. 

'  Mr.  Cottrill,'  said  Cammock,  *  log  that  man.' 

'  Go  below  and  get  your  chest,  lies,'  said 
Cottrill. 

'  Get  ter  hell,'  said  lies. 

Cottrill  walked  up  to  him  and  smote  him  in  the 
eye.  '  Get  your  chest,  pronto,'  he  said.  '  Give  me 
any  more  of  your  lip  and  I'll  lay  your  spine  bare. 
Give  him  a  hand  you.  Wise.' 

^  You  know  the  rules,  men,'  said  Captain  Cam- 
mock.      ^  Choose  your  new  second  mate.' 

The  men  shuffled  and  shifted.  One  of  them,  a 
leader  in  the  fo'c's'le,  shoved  the  bosun  forward. 
'  What  the  hell,  boys,'  said  the  bosun  under  his 
breath.  *  We'd  rather  you  chose,  sir,'  said  old  Sails, 
coming  from  among  the  crowd  after  a  moment 
of  busy  whispering. 

'  I  choose  you,  boatswain,'  said  Cammock.  *  Ay 
or  no,  you  } ' 

'  Ay,  sir.' 

'Mr.  Ramage,  you're  our  second  mate.  Come 
to  my  cabin  at  eight  bells  and  sign  the  articles. 
You,  Griffin  Harris,  take  Mr.  Ramage's  call ;  I 
make  you  boatswain.  Mr.  Ramage,  tell  one  ot 
the  hands  to  shift  your  gear  into  the  second  mate's 
cabin.  Harris,  bring  your  chest  aft  to  the  round- 
house. Men,  remember  that  Mr.  Ramage  is 
Mister  Ramage.     Take  the  call,  Harris.' 

173 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Griffin  Harris,  a  short,  thick-set  seaman,  hanging 
his  head  but  showing  no  trace  of  emotion,  pulled 
his  forelock  and  stepped  up  to  Mr.  Ramage. 

*  Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Ramage,'  he  said,  ^  might  I 
have  the  call,  sir.'  Mr.  Ramage  slipped  the  chain 
from  his  neck  and  handed  it  to  him. 

^  Pipe  down,  bosun.' 

Harris  took  the  pipe  and  blew  the  tremolo  of 
the  belay.  The  men  turned  to  walk  forward,  just 
as  lies  and  Wise  reappeared  with  the  chest  and 
bag.  Captain  Cammock's  sternness  vanished  the 
moment  the  pipe  down  had  sounded. 

'  You'll  have  to  pipe  better  than  that,  bosun,'  he 
said.  '  You  pipe  like  Wally  with  the  stiff  neck.' 
The  new  bosun  laughed.  '  I'll  pipe  fine  against 
we  get  there,  sir.' 

Stukeley  walked  up  to  Captain  Cammock. 
*What  the  hell  d'you  mean  by  insulting  my 
friend  } '  he  said. 

Cammock  paid  no  attention  to  him,  but  walked 
up  to  Margaret  to  ask  if  he  would  stand  the  first 
watch  with  the  new  second  mate. 

*  Certainly,'  said  Margaret. 

'  I  asked  you  a  question,'  said  Stukeley  bitterly, 
in  a  loud  voice,  so  that  the  men  loitering  in  the 
waist  could  hear.  '  D'ye  hear  me.  Captain  Cam- 
mock }  What  the  hell  d'you  mean  by  insulting  my 
friend  .? ' 

^  Stukeley,'  said  Margaret,  ^  go  below.' 

'  I'm  not  talking  to  you,'  said  Stukeley. 

'  No,'  said  Margaret  ;  '  but  I'm  giving  you  some 
sound  advice.     Go  below.' 

'  You're  a  funny  devil,  aren't  you  1  Now  then, 
Brandyface,  you'll  give  me  an  answer.' 

174 


A  SUPPER   PARTT 

At  this  moment  lies  came  up,  from  his  old 
haunts  in  the  'tween-decks,  carrying  his  demijohn 
of  carefully  saved  spirits. 

'  What  have  you  got  there,  lies  ?  *  said  the 
captain  quickly. 

'  My  whack  of  rum.* 

*  Take  your  cap  off,  or  I'll  knock  it  ofF.  What 
did  you  say  ?  * 

'  My  whack  of  rum.  Captain  Cammock,  sir.' 
'  Yes.     You'd  better  remember  that.     Put  down 
that  demijohn.' 

'  Please,  sir.     It's  mine,  sir.' 

He  laid  down  the  demijohn,  fingering  his  cap. 

*  Steward,  whack  that  rum  out  to  all  hands  at 
eight  bells.  Allow  it  to  the  man  lies  in  the  savings 
book.' 

'  I  will,  seh.' 

*  There,'  said  Cammock,  turning  to  Margaret. 
'  He's  not  going  to  curry  favour  forward  with  a 
couple  of  gallons  of  rum.  He'd  have  had  half  the 
watch  blind  if  I'd  not  seen  him  that  time.' 

Stukeley  put  his  hand  on  Cammock's  shoulder. 
*  You  damned  old  pirate,'  he  said.  *  Now  you'll 
settle  with  me.  Your  little  go's  over.  Now  it's 
mine.' 

Cammock  turned  to  Margaret.  '  Take  his  other 
arm,  sir,'  he  said. 

He  caught  Stukeley  by  the  wrist  with  his  left 
hand.  Margaret  tackled  him  swiftly  on  the  other 
side.  Together  they  marched  him  below  to  Cam- 
mock's cabin,  which  they  entered,  locking  the  door 
behind  them. 

*  Now,  Mr.  Stukeley,'  said  Cammock,  placing 
his  prisoner  on  the  settee.     ^  I  command  this  ship. 

175 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Be  quiet,  now.  Not  a  word,  sir,  till  Vm  done. 
You  give  me  any  more  trouble.  You  so  much  as 
try  to  come  between  me  and  my  hands,  and  you'll 
go  in  irons  till  I  can  put  you  ashore.' 

'That's  entirely 'right.  Captain  Cammock,'  said 
Margaret.  '  You'd  do  well  to  remember  it,  Stuke- 
ley; 

'I'll  remember  it,'  said  Stukeley.  'And  I'll 
make  you  two  remember  it.* 

'  Another  thing,'  said  Cammock.  '  While  you 
live  aft,  you'll  act  aft.  You'll  hold  no  conversation 
with  any  member  of  my  crew,  except  through  one 
of  my  officers.  And  1  shall  expect  you  to  keep 
from  the  main  deck  and  the  'tween-decks.  I  say 
nothing  about  your  insults.  Them's  only  the 
bubbling  in  your  mind,  I  guess.  I'm  sorry  for 
you.  But  give  me  no  more,  sir.  If  you  do,  or  if 
you  break  the  rules  I  make,  you'll  go  in  irons  till 
we  land.' 

'  Anything  more  ^ '  said  Stukeley. 

'  There'll  be  more  when  I  see  you  need  it.' 

'  All  right,  Maggy.  I'll  remember  this.  Is  that 
all  now  ? ' 

'  Yes.     That's  all,'  said  Margaret. 

'Then  I  advise  you  to  let  me  go.' 

'There's  the  door,'  said  Margaret,  turning  back 
the  key.     '  Allow  me  to  come  with  you.' 

'  Thank  you.     I  choose  my  own  company.' 

'  No,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  '  We  shall  do  that  for 
you.  You  ain't  fit  to  choose  your  own  company. 
I'm  sorry  to  have  to  say  it.' 

'You  wait,  Mr.  Cammock.     You  wait' 

'  Will  you  come  on  deck,  Stukeley  } '  said  Mar- 
garet.    '  Or  will  you  join  your  wife  } ' 

176 


A  SUPPER   PARTT 

*  You  may  go  to  hell,'  said  Stukeley.  With  this 
repartee  he  walked  aft  to  vent  his  spleen  upon 
Olivia.  Guessing  his  intention,  Margaret  stayed 
with  him  till  the  bell  called  the  starboard  watch  on 
deck. 


N  177 


VII 

The   TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

*  This  is  all  our  world  ; 
We  shall  know  nothing  here  but  one  another.' 

The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen, 

CIX  days  after  striking  soundings,  the  Broken 
Heart  sailed  up  the  James  River  with  the  flood, 
to  let  go  her  anchor  off  Jamestown  as  the  last  gun 
of  her  salute  was  fired.  Her  colours  were  dipped 
to  the  colours  on  the  Governor's  flagstaff.  Her 
sails  were  all  clued  up  together  ;  the  bunts  of  the 
furls  were  tight  and  shapely,  crossed  by  the  broad 
black  bands  of  the  bunt-gaskets. 

Captain  Cammock  walked  the  poop  with  Mar- 
garet, pretending  to  watch  the  squaring  of  the 
yards.  Both  were  puzzled  and  ill  at  ease.  They 
were  in  that  troublous  state  of  waiting  to  be 
assured  ;  their  anxiety  was  such  that  a  decisive 
blow,  either  for  or  against  them,  would  have  seemed 
better  than  the  uncertainty  which  made  them  hope 
for  one  thing  while  fearing  the  other.  On  entering 
Chesapeake  Bay,  they  had  squared  their  yards,  in- 
tending to  run  up  past  Stingray,  to  Hog  Creek  on 
the  Accomac  side,  where  some  of  Cammock's 
friends  were  planting.  But  a  man-of-war  sloop, 
flying  the  ensign,  and  full  of  men,  had  crossed  their 
bows,  bidding   them    heave-to    and    send  a    boat. 

i7« 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

Cammock  had  gone  aboard  her  to  find  out  what 
she  wanted  ;  and  had  received  orders  to  proceed 
direct  to  Jamestown,  to  discharge  his  cargo  there. 
No  explanation  was  given  except  that  *  Those  were 
the  orders.'  The  officer  of  the  watch  would  tell 
him  nothing  more.  He  had  returned  on  board 
after  this,  feeling  sure  that  danger  threatened  them. 
He  was  inclined  to  think  that  word  had  come  from 
England  ordering  their  arrest  on  arrival.  But  he 
was  not  sure.  The  lieutenant  had  been  surly  after 
a  drunken  night.  His  remark  of  '  You'll  find  out 
about  that  when  you  get  there '  might  have  come 
from  a  momentary  irritation  at  being  questioned. 
Margaret  had  called  up  Stukeley,  to  tell  him  his 
fears,  and  Stukeley  had  counselled  putting  to  sea. 
This  was  impossible  ;  for  the  sloop  was  almost 
within  hail  ;  while  without  Point  Comfort,  under 
her  whole  topsails,  her  open  port-lids  flashing,  was 
one  of  the  two  frigates  on  the  station,  coming 
in  from  her  cruise  to  take  fresh  water.  They  were 
in  the  trap  ;  they  could  only  hope  for  the  best. 
Stukeley  took  the  news  badly.  He  stood  by  the 
mizen-rigging,  with  a  white  face,  licking  his  lips 
and  making  wild  suggestions. 

'  Couldn't  you  put  me  ashore  } '  he  asked.  '  Send 
me  in  a  boat.     Until  you  leave  }  * 

*  How  about  Olivia  ^      Have  you  told  her  ytt^ 
what  you  expect } ' 

*  No,  of  course  I've  not  told  her.    Can't  you  talk 
sense  ? ' 

*  Hadn't  you   better  tell    her  ?      I    mean,    as — 
in  kindness  to  her.' 

'  No.     I  can't.' 
'Shall  I  tell  her.?' 

179  ^ 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  My  God,  no.  Look  here,  Margaret.  I  tell 
you  why  I  can't  tell  her.  I'm  a  blackguard,  and 
all  that.     Look  here.     She's  going  to  have  a  child.' 

'  My  God.     Are  you  sure,  Stukeley  ? ' 

^  Sure  }  Damn  it,  man.  It's  serious.  For 
God's  sake  talk  sense.' 

'Well.  My  God.  She  must  be  told,  man. 
It'll  only  be  worse  for  her  later.' 

*  No,  it  won't  be.' 

'  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  ' 

*  Do  ?  I  tell  you  it'll  be  death  for  her  if  she 
learns.' 

'But  you  must  think  of  her,  Stukeley.  Man. 
How.  Supposing.  She  can't  come  to  Darien. 
It's  impossible.* 

'  It's  not  impossible.     It'd  be  all  right.' 

'  Well,  Stukeley,  I  give  you  up/ 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? ' 

'  Things  must  take  their  course.  I  can't  think 
what  I  can  do.' 

'  Are  you  going  to  give  me  up  ? ' 

'  You  must  see  that  you'll  be  taken.  If  there's 
a  letter.' 

'  If.     If.     Oh.     Good  luck,  you.' 

'  Yes.  But  think  of  Olivia.  Man.  She  must 
go  home.     You  must  see  that.' 

'  Yes.  But  she  doesn't.  You  know  how  queer 
women  get  at  these  times.  She  insists  on  coming 
with  me.' 

'  I  don't  know.  Go  and  tell  her.  Go  on  and 
tell  her,  cost  what  it  may.' 

'  I've  got  to  consider  her  child.' 

'Captain  Cammock,  you've  got  a  clear  head. 
What  do  you  say  ? ' 

i8p 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

'  You  could  head  me  up  in  a  cask/  said  Stukeley. 

'  Well,'  said  Cammock.  *  1  say,  go  and  eat  a 
good  big  dinner.  We  shan't  be  in  till  afternoon  ; 
till  two  or  three,  perhaps,  if  the  wind  drops.  If 
there's  to  be  an  arrest,  you'll  know  of  it  soon  enough. 
It'll  settle  itself.  Don't  cross  no  rivers  till  you 
come  to  the  water.  Why  ?  Cos  you  may  get 
drowned  anyway.* 

*  But  about  my  wife  ? ' 

'Oh,  she'll  be  well  looked  after.  We'll  look 
after  her.' 

*  Damn  you.' 

*  Captain  Margaret,'  said  Cammock,  'just  come 
aft  with  me,  while  I  take  some  bearings.' 

When  they  had  walked  out  of  earshot  of  Stuke- 
ley,  Cammock  added  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
to  let  the  man  suffer  for  a  spell. 

'  But  how  about  Mrs.  Stukeley,  captain  ?  And 
her  little  one  '^ ' 

'  I  wasn't  thinking  of  them,  sir.  I'm  thinking 
of  you  and  Mr.  Perrin.  And  the  ship,  too.  We 
may  be  a  political  matter,  sir.  The  Lords  who 
fitted  us  out ;  they've  got  enemies — political  ene- 
mies. They  may  say,  "  Oh,  you've  sent  out  a 
gang  of  pirates,  who  rescue  escaping  felons."  There 
may  be  the  devil's  own  row  at  home  about  us. 
Law  is  all  right  and  fair.  But  there's  no  law  nor 
right  in  politics.' 

'  We  shall  know  soon.' 

'  Yes.     Very  soon  now.' 

'  It's  anxious  work,  waiting.' 

'  Why,  yes.     Worse  than  the  event.' 

'  It'll  come  hard  on  that  poor  girl.' 

'  She's  better  quit  of  him,  sir.     Much  better.' 
i8i 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  She  won  t  think  that.' 

'  Not  at  first.     But  she  will.' 

'  I  wonder  what  it's  going  to  be.  Pretty,  that 
little  cove  there,  with  the  little  green  boat  coming 
out.' 

'  Very  pretty  sights  at  sea,  sir.  Nice  bit  of 
timber  yonder.  Good  spars  in  them  red  pine.  Don't 
borrow  trouble,  sir.     We'll  know  soon  enough.' 

Thus  they  talked  together  as  the  ship  came 
slowly  to  her  anchorage.  Perrin  joined  them, 
seemingly  indifferent  to  the  present  trouble. 
'  Whatever  happens,'  he  said,  '  we  shall  be  our- 
selves. It's  no  use  worrying.'  He  smoked  more 
than  usual  after  dinner,  and  then  made  outline 
draughts  of  the  coast.  He  was  not  being  brave  ; 
but  having  little  imagination  he  was  indifferent. 
It  was  hot,  too  ;  and  hot  weather  always  made  him 
dull.  The  sight  of  the  new  land  pleased  him. 
There  was  forest  ;  milesof  forest ;  forest  rising  over 
hills,  lapsing  to  hollows  of  marsh,  coming  down 
to  the  sea,  fading  in  a  blur  of  branches.  Here 
and  there  were  clearings.  Here  and  there,  in 
sandy  bays,  the  cows  came,  lowing  at  the  sea. 
Smoke,  in  blue  spires,  rose  up  at  a  planter's  slip 
where  a  sloop  was  building.  At  times,  as  they 
neared  the  land,  before  going  about  on  another 
reach,  they  heard  the  voices  of  men,  the  chop  of 
axes  upon  timber.  A  country  sloop  lay  at  a  jetty. 
Her  men  were  hoisting  casks  aboard,  singing  at 
the  tackles.  A  saw  was  at  work  hard  at  hand. 
Men  were  carrying  planks  to  the  jetty  end.  One 
of  the  men,  laying  down  his  load,  waved  to  the 
ship  as  Captain  Cammock  flung  his  colours  out. 
Very  proudly,  with  all  the  dignity  of  beauty,  the 

182 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

Broken  Heart  marched  to  her  rest.  Her  sailors 
cheered.  They  fired  their  guns,  took  up  their 
berth  and  anchored.  Jamestown  lay  before  them  ; 
with  some  twenty  of  her  citizens  watching  them 
from  the  battery.  Already  one  or  two  men  were 
putting  out  in  boats  towards  them. 

*  That's  not  the  whole  city,'  said  Perrin.  *  There's 
only  twenty  or  thirty  houses,  beside  the  fort  and 
the  church.' 

*  That's  Jamestown,'  said  Cammock.  '  Now, 
Captain  Margaret.     Now  for  it.* 

*  Not  much  longer  to  wait.  We'll  go  ashore 
together.' 

'  No,  sir.  I'll  go  alone.  If  anything's  going  to 
happen,  I'll  send  off  word.  Then  you  can  look  to 
the  lady.' 

'  Ah.     Thank  you,  captain.' 

*  Well.  We'll  know  soon.  I'll  wave  my  hat 
from  the  pier  if  it's  all  well,  sir.  Cheer  up,  sir. 
Mr.  Cottrill,  there.' 

'Ay,  ay.  Captain  Cammock.' 
'  My    gig's    crew,    mister.      Are    they    in    their 
whites  r 

*  Gig's  crew  all  dressed,  sir.' 

'  Tell  the  bosun  to  pipe  them  away.     No  one  to 
come  aboard,  Mr.  Cottrill.' 
'  No  one  to  come  aboard,  sir.' 

*  You  better  keep  an  eye  on  Mr.  Stukeley, 
Captain  Margaret.     He  may  cut  up  rash/ 

*  I  will.     Good-bye,  captain.     Good  luck.' 

*  We'll  know  soon.' 

*  Got  your  papers  V 

'All  correct,  sir.  Now.'  He  passed  over  the 
side,  and  shoved  off. 

183 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Margaret  watched  the  boat  pull  past,  glad  of  that 
small  diversion.  She  was  a  six-oar  gig,  whale- 
built,  painted  dark-blue  and  white,  steering,  on 
state  occasions,  with  a  brass-yoked  rudder,  at  other 
times  with  an  oar.  A  boy  in  a  white  jacket  steered 
her  with  the  yoke-lines,  sitting  behind  Cammock*s 
back-board. 

'Look,  Edward,'  said  Margaret.  'How  charac- 
ter shows  in  little  things.  Look  at  the  styles  of 
the  rowers.  Look  at  the  stroke,  bowing  his  head 
as  he  comes  aft,  and  the  two  midship  oars  watching 
their  blades.  What  makes  men  watch  their 
blades  ?' 

'  Weak  will.  Or  vanity.  I  always  do  it.  A 
sense  of  beauty,  too.  Desire  of  pleasure.  The 
swirl  and  the  bubbles  are  beautiful.  What  do  you 
make  of  the  bow  V 

'  He's  not  got  room  to  pull.  The  stern-sheets 
are  too  roomy.* 

'  He's  a  coward,*  said  Perrin.  '  I  should  be 
like  that.  He  shirks  each  stroke  because  he's 
afraid  of  knocking  the  second  bow's  back.' 

'  Yes.     That's  it.' 

'  The  weakest  man  is  always  put  in  the  bow. 
He  has  to  jump  out  with  the  painter.' 

'  The  most  intelligent  man,  probably.' 

'No.  I  shouldn't  say  the  most  intelligent. 
The  most  sensitive.' 

'What  do  you  make  of  Cammock's  back  ?' 

'  Cammock's  a  fine  fellow.' 

'  Isn't  it  strange  that  he  should  be  what  he  is  .^' 

'After  mixing Good  Lord,  what  ruffians 

he's  mixed  with.' 

'  1  should  like  to  know  how  he  comes  by  it 
184 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

Vm  a  great  believer  in  heredity.  I  wonder  what 
his  people  were.  He's  got  refinement,  too,  in  a 
curious  sort  of  way.' 

*The  poor  are  often  very  refined,'  said  Perrin. 
*  The  very  poor.     Especially  in  the  country.' 

'  I  suppose  because  they've  nothing  to  make 
them  false.' 

'  Yes.' 

*  You  know,  Edward,  that  Olivia's  going  to 
have  a  child  V 

*  No.  Good  Lord.  What  in  the  world  }  Sup- 
posing there's  a  letter  } ' 

*  That's  the  question.  There  it  is.  And  there 
goes  Cammock  up  the  stage.' 

*  But  it  knocks  her  coming  to  Darien  ?  * 
'  Stukeley  says  not.' 

'  Good  God,  though.     It  must.' 
^  We  probably  shan't  leave  here,  Edward.     And 
anyway  he's  her  husband.' 

'  You  must  refuse  to  take  her.' 

*  Yes.  But  even  if  we  get  to  Darien — I  don't 
think  it  likely — she's  as  well  with  us  as  here, 
Edward.' 

'  That's  true,  too.  Well.  I  told  you  how  it 
would  be,  Charles.     Didn't  I  } ' 

Cammock  was  a  long  time  gone  ;*but  not  such  a 
long  time  as  it  seemed.  Margaret,  deserted  by 
Perrin,  who  was  called  away  by  Cottrill,  paced  the 
poop  moodily,  losing,  in  dejection,  the  clumsy  trick 
of  carriage  which  marred  his  gait.  His  ordinary 
walk  had  a  kind  of  jaunty  spring,  which  seemed 
unnatural  to  the  man,  improper  to  his  essential 
character.  There  was  no  jauntiness  in  him  at  this 
moment ;  for  his  trouble  was  heavy.     For  possible 

185 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

arrest  he  cared  nothing  ;  for  possible  hanging  he 
cared  nothing.  '  I  shall  still  be  myself/  he  said, 
repeating  what  Perrin  had  repeated  from  another. 
*  What  does  it  matter  if  I  am  hanged  ? '  Bells 
seemed  to  be  ringing  in  his  brain,  heavy  bells  and 
dull,  with  merry  impish  bells.  '  01ivia*s  going  to 
have  a  child,'  they  said.  *  Olivia's  going  to  have  a 
child.  Going  to  have  a  child.  A  child.  A  child.' 
Like  many  lonely  men,  he  desired  children.  They 
had  played  about  him  in  his  dreams  of  her.  Girls 
mostly,  with  Olivia's  eyes,  her  throat,  her  voice. 
Now  was  come  the  end  of  everything.  Her  child 
would  be  a  monster,  a  goat-footed  boy,  a  Stukeley. 
He  shuddered  to  think  of  the  child's  hair,  curling 
and  black  like  the  father's  hair,  negro  hair  ;  his 
nerves  were  shaken.  As  for  his  love  for  Olivia, 
that  would  never  be  the  same  ;  it  was  changed  now, 
wholly  changed.  No  man's  love  could  bear  that, 
could  forgive  that  ;  though  it  glorified  her,  in  a 
way,  and  made  her  very  sacred. 

He  leaned  over  the  taffrail,  to  watch  for  Cam- 
mock,  who  had  vanished  among  the  strangers,  like 
a  stone  cast  into  water.  Something  stirred  beside 
him,  and  there  was  Olivia,  dressed  in  clothes  which 
she  had  worn  long  ago  at  home,  looking  as  she  had 
looked  then  ;  but  that  her  face  was  paler.  He 
started  to  see  her,  thinking  for  a  moment  that  she 
had  come  to  tell  him,  hoping  it  with  all  his  heart. 
It  would  make  their  friendship  perfect,  he  thought, 
if  this  might  be  done  together.  She  smiled  to  see 
him  start ;  but  her  face  instantly  grew  grave  again. 

^  Charles,'  she  said,  '  is  anything  the  matter  with 
Tom.?' 

'  Matter  with  him  } '  he  repeated.  '  Is  he  ill  ?  Has 

1 86 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

he  hurt  himself?'  For  just  one  wild  second,  he 
wondered,  in  an  agony  that  was  half  hope,  if  the 
man  had  taken  poison. 

*  I  can't  get  him  to  speak  to  me.  And  he's  so 
white.  Charles,  I  can't  help  thinking  that  he  is 
sunstruck.' 

^  Shall  I  go  down  } ' 

*  He    won't    see    anybody.     He    won't Oh, 

Charles,  1  wish  I'd  been  on  deck  with  him.  Was 
he  in  the  sun  }     Are  you  sure  he  wasn't } ' 

*  He  wasn't  in  the  sun,  Olivia.  He  wasn't  on 
deck  for  more  than  a  few  minutes.' 

'  But  where  was  he,  then  .?  He  must  have  been 
forward,  where  you  couldn't  see  him.' 

'  I  do  hope  he  wasn't,'  said  Margaret,  hating  him- 
self for  his  deception.  The  words  '  Mrs.  Inigo  '  rose 
to  his  lips  ;  but  he  kept  from  uttering  them.  *  I 
ought  to  have  prevented  all  this.     I  might  have.    I 

ought  to  have  kept  them  apart  till She  ought 

not  to  be  fretting.'  He  bit  his  lips  at  the  thought 
of  his  negligence. 

'  I'll  come  down  at  once,  Olivia,'  he  said.  '  Oh, 
Olivia,'  he  added,  his  voice  growing  tender  and 
moving,  '  you  look  so  white  and  worried.  I'll  look 
after  Stukeley.  Won't  you  lie  down  and  rest  ^  It's 
much  too  hot  for  you  in  the  sun  here.  And  then 
the  excitement.' 

'  Oh,  never  mind  me,'  she  said  hurriedly,  almost 
gaily.  *  I'm  not  in  the  least  ill.  It's  Tom.'  As 
women  sometimes  will,  in  moments  of  emotion,  she 
acted  impulsively,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  send- 
ing the  blood  to  his  temples. 

^  Come  on  down,  then,'  he  said  thickly.  *  We'll 
see.     We'll  see  your  husband.'     He  glanced  over 

187 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

the  side  again,  biting  his  lips,  his  face  turned  away, 
as  she  took  his  arm.  In  that  glance  he  saw  the  slip 
below  the  battery,  with  its  green  piles,  barnacled, 
clucked  about  by  the  tides,  mounted  with  tar- 
paulined cannon.  Cammock  stood  upon  the  slip 
end,  his  gig's  crew,  their  oars  tossed,  just  below 
him.  Townsmen  were  talking  to  him  ;  but  he 
stood  unheeding,  looking  at  the  Bro\en  Hearty  wav- 
ing his  hat.  Margaret  waved  his  hat  in  answer,  to 
show  that  he  saw  ;  then,  breathing  a  deep  sigh,  he 
led  Olivia  below. 

*  Why.  What  makes  you  sigh  like  that } '  she 
asked. 

*  Why  do  I  sigh  }  Captain  Cammock  was  signal- 
ling to  me.  I  was  afraid  we  might  be  quarantined. 
But  it's  all  right  now.  He's  signalled  that  it's  all 
right.     I'm  relieved.' 

'  Charles,'  she  said,  pausing  in  the  alleyway,  '  I 

sometimes  feel  that  I've  given  you  pain  by  coming 

with  you  like  this.     Have  I  1 ' 

'No,  Olivia,'  he  answered.    '  How  could  you  V 
'  But  are  you  sure  }    I  couldn't  bear  to  think  that 

I  had.' 

'  I  am  very  sure  of  that,  Olivia.' 

'  You  aren't  angry  with  me  for  asking  ? ' 

'  We're   old  friends,   you   and   I,   Olivia.      Old 

friends  like  you  and  I  don't  get  angry  with  each 

other.' 

'  Some  day  I  hope  you'll  marry,  Charles.     You'd 

make  the  right  woman  very  happy.' 

'  Ah  no,  no.     We  mustn't  talk  of  that.' 

'  You  will,  Charles.    You  will.    And  yet  it  would 

be  sad  to  see  all  one's  boy  and  girl  friends  married. 

A  woman  doesn't  like  to  feel  old.' 

i88 


The    TOBACCO   MERCHANT 

'  Olivia.' 

*■  Now  come  in  and  see  Tom.  Do  you  think 
there  are  good  doctors  here  }  *  The  question  was 
earnestly  asked.  It  seemed  to  Margaret  that  it  took 
for  granted  that  he  knew,  that  it  was  the  woman's 
way  of  taking  him  into  her  confidence,  into  the 
dark,  locked  cupboard,  meagrely  catalogued  with- 
out, which  is  a  woman's  confidence.  It  made  a  strange 
jangling  of  all  his  strings  to  hear  her.  In  the  dark 
passage  there,  with  her  great  eyes  looking  into  his, 
and  the  earrings  gleaming  palely  against  the  hair, 
she  moved  him,  she  shook  him  out  of  tune. 

*  Olivia,'  he  said,  stammering.  '  Olivia.  If. 
When.     When  your.     If  you  ever  have  a  child, 

Olivia.     Will  you   let  me — let  me Let  me 

see  it  often.     Be  its  godfather.     Be  something  to 
it.?' 

'  Yes,'  she  said  softly,  pressing  the  back  of  his 
hand  quickly.  '  Yes,  Charles.  I  promise  you 
that.' 

'  You  aren't  hurt,  Olivia  } ' 

*  No,  Charles.     Not  hurt.' 
'  God  bless  you,  Olivia.' 

'  Come  in  to  Tom,  now,'  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
She  was  moved  and  touched.     They  went  in. 

Stukeley  sat  at  the  cabin  table,  drinking  brandy 
without  water.  He  was  white  and  sick.  Their 
entrance  made  him  start  up  with  an  oath. 

*  What's  the  matter,  Stukeley  ? '  said  Margaret. 
*  We  aren't  going  into — into  quarantine.  Cam- 
mock's  signalled  that  it's  all  right.  What's  the 
matter  with  you  1     Let  me  feel  your  pulse.' 

'Ah,'  he  said,  gasping.  'Ah.  This  heat's  upset 
me.* 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  How  are  you,  Tom  ?  *  Olivia  tenderly  asked. 
^  How's  your  head  ?  * 

'  Oh,  my  head's  all  right.  Don't  bother.  Don't 
bother.'  He  rose  from  his  seat,  laughing  wildly. 
'  What  a  turn  it  gave  me,'  he  said.  '  I'm  going  to 
see  old  Brandyco.  I'm  all  right  again,  Olivia.' 
He  took  her  by  the  shoulders  and  bent  back  her 
head  so  that  he  might  kiss  her.  '  Poor  little  Olive,' 
he  said  caressingly,  pinching  her  arms.  '  She's 
been  worrying,  ever  so.  Hasn't  she  ?  Hasn't  she  1 
Eh.?'  He  kissed  her  eyes.  Margaret  turned  away, 
wondering  whether  the  kiss  smelt  worse  of  brandy 
or  tobacco. 

'  Don't  go  on  deck,'  said  Olivia.  '  Don't  go  on 
deck,  Tom,  dear.     The  sun's  so  strong.' 

'  But  you'll  want  to  hear  about  Jamestown  from 
Cammock.' 

*  No,  Tom,  dear.  I  don't.  I  want  you.  I  want 
you  to  rest  and  get  well.' 

'  I'd  like.     1  must  just  see  Cammock.' 

^  But  what  makes  you  so  eager  to  see  Captain 
Cammock,  Tom  .? ' 

^  Stukeley  looks  on  the  captain  as  a  sort  of 
show,'  said  Margaret  quickly.  '  The  captain  has 
just  been  talking  with  strangers.  Wouldn't  you 
like  to  see  a  man  who'd  really  seen  a  new  face, 
Olivia  ;  and  heard  a  new  voice  ^ ' 

Olivia  smiled. 

'  I  don't  think  Tom's  strong  enough  for  excite- 
ments,' she  said. 

'  No,'  said  Margaret,  leaving  the  cabin.  *  But  I 
don't  think  there's  much  wrong.  I  think  he'll  soon 
be  all  right,  Olivia.  Make  him  lie  down  and  rest. 
I  must  just  see  the  captain.'     He  went  on  deck 

190 


The    TOBACCO   MERCHANT 

hurriedly,  holding  his  breath  till  he  was  in  the 
fresh  air.  '  Poison,'  he  said  to  himself.  ^  Poison. 
What  a  life.  What  squalor.  That  woman  going 
to  have  a  child.  And  Stukeley,  pah.  Drinking 
and  smoking  there,  waiting  to  be  dragged  to  gaol. 
She  doesn't  see  it.  One  would  think  he  must 
shock  every  fibre  of  her  nature.  And  he  doesn't. 
He  gives  her  love,  I  suppose.  That  was  the  only 
thing  she  wanted.  And  now  that  beast  is  her 
standard.'  In  the  pure  air  he  blamed  himself  for 
thinking  ill  of  her.  'After  all,'  he  thought, 
'  Stukeley  isn't  a  beast  to  her.  She,  with  her  much 
finer  sense,  sees  something  in  him.  Something 
that  is  all  the  world  to  her.  Something  beautiful. 
She  may  even  be  happy  with  him.  She  may  be.' 
He  thought  pitifully  of  women,  and  angrily  of  men. 
It  was  all  wrong,  he  thought.  Men  and  women 
could  never  understand  each  other,  except  in  rare 
moments,  in  love,  when  the  light  in  each  heart 
burned  clearly.  Women  were  hidden  ;  they  were 
driven  to  covert,  poor  trembling  fawns.  They 
were  like  the  nymphs  hidden  in  the  reeds  by  the 
river.  They  took  care  that  men  should  see  only 
the  reeds.  He  had  never  really  seen  Olivia  ;  he 
was  not  sure  if  he  knew  her  yet ;  he  couldn't  say 
what  it  was  that  he  loved.  He  did  not  care  ;  he 
was  not  going  to  ask.  She  was  beautiful  ;  her 
beauty  moved  him  to  the  bone  ;  beauty  was  in  all 
of  her,  in  the  whole  woman,  the  whole  nature, 
body  and  spirit,  in  the  ways  of  body  and  spirit. 
She  was  going  to  have  a  child  ;  Stukeley's  child  ; 
red-cheeked,  curly  ;  a  little  boy-beast,  the  bully  of 
his  school.  Ah,  but  the  child  would  be  hers,  too. 
She  would  bring  it  up  to  be  like  her.     He  would 

J9I 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

have  that  refinement  of  voice,  that  lovely,  merry, 
almost  timid  manner,  her  eyes,  her  grace,  her  shy- 
ness. Captain  Cammock,  who  had  been  watching 
him  for  a  full  thirty  seconds,  half  amused,  half  sad, 
that  his  passion  had  so  strong  a  hold  still,  even 
in  a  moment  of  anxiety,  now  tapped  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

^  Ah,  captain.* 

'  It's  all  right,  sir.  Nothing  come  yet.  You  can 
land  your  goods  as  soon  as  you  like.  The  Gover- 
nor said  he  remembered  you,  and  hopes  that  you 
will  wait  upon  him.' 

'  Good.    I  will.' 

*  It  is  good,  sir.  Oh,  I've  ordered  some  fresh 
meat,  sir,  and  some  fowls.' 

'  Yes.  We  must  feast  to-night.  And  send  the 
boat  in  for  a  cask  of  fresh  water.  Two-month 
water  is  poor  tipple.' 

'  Yes.  What  would  you  say  to  six-month  water  } 
We  must  give  a  free  pump  in  port.  And  a  cask  of 
rum  or  beer,  sir,  on  the  quarter-deck,  would  help 
our  trade.     For  visitors  you  know,  sir.' 

'  See  to  it  then,  captain.  A  letter  may  come 
while  we're  here,  though.* 

'  Then  make  the  Governor  and  the  others  your 
friends.  Send  'em  a  few  cases  of  wine.  Square  the 
man-of-war  captains.  There'll  be  no  trouble  if 
you  make  them  all  your  friends.* 

*  It  doesn't  sound  pretty.* 

^  Nor  a  wrung  neck  don't  look  it.* 

During  the  next  few  days  there  was  bustle  in  the 
Bro\en  Heart.  Visitors  came  aboard  to  look  at 
samples  of  goods  ;  to  talk  with  the  seamen  ;  and 
to  taste  the  rum  and  beer,  which  was  served  out,  a 

192 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

cup  to  each  comer,  for  the  first  forty-eight  hours  of 
her  stay  in  the  port.  All  sorts  came  aboard  her  ; 
traders  and  planters,  oyster  and  fisher  men,  soldiers 
from  the  fort,  officers  of  the  Governor's  house, 
Indians,  men  from  the  backwoods,  trappers,  a  sun- 
burned, good-humoured,  silent  company,  very 
sharp  at  a  bargain. 

After  the  first  two  days,  the  trade  began.  The 
seamen  rigged  up  trading-booths  ashore,  with  some 
old  sails,  stretched  upon  poles.  Planks  were  laid 
upon  casks  to  serve  as  trade  tables.  The  goods 
were  arranged  at  the  back  of  each  booth,  in  the  care 
of  trusty  hands.  Clothing  was  more  in  demand 
than  any  other  kind  of  goods  ;  but  the  only  clothes 
bought  were  those  of  fine  quality  and  beautiful 
colour.  It  puzzled  Captain  Margaret  to  see  a 
small  planter,  owning  perhaps  only  one  white 
apprenticed  servant,  or  redemptioner,  buying 
clothes  of  great  price,  putting  them  on  in  the 
booth,  and  riding  off,  like  an  earl,  on  his  little  Vir- 
ginian horse,  to  his  little  clearing  in  the  wilderness. 
A  few  planters,  especially  those  who  were  newly 
come  to  the  colony  from  the  islands,  where  they 
had  been  privateering,  paid  for  their  purchases 
in  ounces  of  silver.  It  was  easy  to  recognize 
these  planters.  They  had  not  lost  their  sea-walk, 
nor  that  steadfast  anxiety  of  gaze  which  marks 
the  sailor.  They  all  carried  arms  ;  though  the 
richer  sort  of  them  wore  only  pistols  and  a 
knife,  leaving  the  carriage  of  the  musket,  the  bag 
containing  lead,  a  mould,  and  some  bullets,  and  the 
heavy  leather-covered  powder-bottle,  to  a  redemp- 
tioner, a  Moskito  Indian,  or,  more  rarely,  to  a 
negro  slave.  Cammock  had  known  some  of  these 
o  193 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

men  in  the  past.  Often,  as  he  sat  In  the  shade, 
watching  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  now  so  glorious 
with  coming  autumn.  Captain  Margaret  would  see 
one  of  these  strangers  approaching,  followed  by  his 
man.  He  was  always  impressed  by  them,  some- 
times by  their  physical  splendour,  sometimes  by  the 
sense  that  they  were  full  of  a  rather  terrible  exu- 
berance. As  he  watched  such  a  man  approaching 
the  booths,  puffing  at  his  pipe,  dressed  in  elaborate 
clothes,  hung  about  with  silver  at  all  points,  with 
silver  buttons,  silver  brooches,  silver  discs,  buckles 
of  heavy  silver,  links  and  stars  of  silver,  silver 
chains  and  necklets,  so  that  the  man's  whole  wealth 
was  on  his  body  at  one  time.  Captain  Margaret  was 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  envy.  His  own  training, 
his  own  beautifully  ordered  life  in  an  English 
college,  had  shut  him  off  from  such  a  life  as  this 
man's.  This  clashing,  tinkling  pirate — he  was 
nothing  more,  although  he  often  looked  so  fine — 
was  master  of  his  world.  Captain  Margaret  was  the 
slave  of  his  ;  the  unhappy  slave.  The  pirate  could 
leave  his  plantation  when  he  wished,  letting  the 
wild  bines  choke  his  tobacco.  He  could  ship  him- 
self in  any  ship  in  the  harbour,  and  go  to  any  part 
of  the  world  which  pleased  his  fancy.  If  chance 
flung  him  down  in  a  tropical  forest,  on  an  island  in 
the  sea,  in  a  battle,  in  a  shipwreck,  at  a  wedding, 
he  would  know  what  to  do,  what  to  say,  what  to 
propose.  The  world  had  no  terrors  for  such  a 
man.  Captain  Margaret  forgot,  when  he  thought 
thus  enviously,  that  he  himself  was  one  of  the 
few  who  had  escaped  from  the  world,  escaped  from 
that  necessity  for  tooth  and  claw  which  is  nature  ; 
and  that  by  being  no  longer  '  natural,'  instinctive, 
.    '  194 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

common,  he  had  risen  to  something  higher,  to  a 
point  from  which  he  could  regard  the  pirate  as  an 
interesting  work  of  art.  He  never  pursued  his 
fancy  far  enough  to  ask  himself  if  he  would  will- 
ingly imitate  or  possess  that  work  ;  because  the 
pirate,  passing  him  by  with  a  hard,  shrewd  glance, 
would  stride  into  the  booth,  taking  off  his  hat  to 
thrust  back  his  long  hair.  He  would  listen  then  to 
the  conversation.  If  the  man  was  known  to  Cam- 
mock,  the  talk  began  promptly. 

*  Any  Don  Peraltoes,  this  trip  ?  * 

*  What  ?     Peraltoes  .?     You  weren't  there  } ' 
^  Ain't  you  Ned  ?' 

*  And  you're  Lion.  I'd  never  have  known  you. 
Any  of  'em  with  you  } ' 

'  No,  I  quit  the  trade.  Come  and  have  some- 
thing.' 

Then  they  would  mix  some  rum  and  sugar,  and 
sprinkle  the  mixture  with  a  squeeze  of  a  scrap  of 
lemon-peel.  They  would  drink  together,  calling 
their  curious  toasts  of  '  Salue,'  *  Here's  How,* 
'  Happy  Days,'  and  ^  Plenty  Dollars.'  Then,  over 
the  trade  as  the  men  haggled — 

'  Got  any  powder.  Lion  } ' 

'  I  can  only  sell  powder  if  you've  a  licence  from 
the  Governor.' 

'Any  small  arms  V 

'  The  same  there.' 

'  Them's  a  nice  lot  of  macheats.  How  do  they 
come  } ' 

'An  ounce  apiece.     Or  fifty  pound  of  leaf.' 

'  Steep.     Let's  see  one.     A  good  trade  knife.' 

'  What  are  you  doing  now  } ' 

'  I  got  about  fifty  acres  burned  oflF.  That's  the 
195 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

grant  here,  Lion,  fifty  acres.  Tobacco,  you  know. 
I  do  a  bit  of  fishing,  whiles.  A  nice  handy  sloop, 
I  got.     Small,  of  course.' 

'  Crops  good  1 ' 

'  A  sight  too  good,  if  you  ask  me.  This  black 
soil'll  sprout  a  coffin.  But  tobacco's  away  down. 
We  burn  half  our  crops,  trying  to  keep  up  prices. 
It's  only  worth  about  ninepence.' 

'  Are  you  going  to  stick  at  it  ? ' 

*  It's  a  bit  quiet.     I  lie  out  in  the  woods  whiles.' 

*  Anything  else  doing  } ' 

*  You  were  here  yourself } ' 

'  I  come  here  with  Crawfot's  party.  I  was  here. 
Yes.     Sure.' 

'  Crawfot's  dead,  if  you  mean  Tom.  Did  you 
ever  try  any  running  } ' 

'  Running  rum  from  Jamaica  1 ' 

*  Yes.  I  do  a  bit  that  way.  Other  things,  too. 
I'm  in  with  some  of  Ned's  lot.' 

'  Ned  Davis  .? ' 

'  Yes.    We  run  blacks  sometimes,  too.    Run  'em 
into  Carolina.     New  York  sometimes.' 
'  Ah.     How  did  Tom  die  .? ' 

*  Indians.  I  done  a  bit  that  way,  too.  Lion. 
You  catch  two  or  three  squaws.  They  fetch  as 
much  as  a  white  woman  down  to  Campeachy. 
Two  or  three  of  them  ;  it  runs  into  money.' 

*  I've  known  that  done,'  said  Cammock.  *  The 
man  done  it  was  Robert  Jolly.  He  come  to  a 
jolly  end,  what's  more.     The  braves  got  him.' 

'  There's  always  a  risk  of  that,'  said  Ned.  '  And 
it's  10,000  lbs.  of  leaf  fine,  if  the  Governor  gets 
you.* 

^  Well,  Ned.     If  you  want  fun,  why  don't  you 

196 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

come  in  with  us.  And  bring  in  some  of  your 
mates.' 

*  Is  this  trade  only  a  blind,  then  } ' 

*Not  on  your  life.  But  we're  in  for  a  big 
thing.  A  very  big  thing.  I  wouldn't  mention  it. 
But  you  see,  I  know  you,  Ned  ;  and  so,  you  see, 
it's  like  this.' 

Between  them,  Margaret  and  Cammock  per- 
suaded some  half  a  dozen  recruits  to  join  during 
the  first  few  days  in  port.  The  new  recruits 
promised  to  come  aboard  when  the  ship  sailed,  but 
not  before,  lest  the  Governor  should  grow  sus- 
picious. They  agreed,  also,  seeing  that  Margaret 
had  a  commission,  to  submit  to  a  sharper  discipline 
than  was  usual  among  privateers.  Margaret  had 
no  intention  of  admitting  these  men  into  his 
fo'c's'le.  They  were  not  waged  men  like  the 
seamen  shipped  in  London  ;  but  volunteers  agree- 
ing to  serve  for  shares.  To  admit  them  into  the 
fo'c's'le,  where  they  would  enjoy  certain  privileges 
not  shared  by  the  sailors,  would  cause  bad  blood, 
and  bickering  for  precedence.  To  avoid  this, 
he  planned  with  Cammock  to  create  a  military 
company,  to  be  called  *the  men  of  war.'  The 
privateers  who  joined  him  were  to  be  enlisted  in 
this  company,  under  the  command  (as  he  suggested) 
of  an  old  buccaneer  (one  of  the  first  to  join)  who 
kept  an  ale-house  some  miles  out  of  Jamestown. 
This  old  man  was  named  Raphael  Gamage.  He 
had  served  with  Cammock  many  years  before  in 
Morgan's  raid  on  Porto  Bello.  As  far  as  Cammock 
could  remember,  he  was  a  trusty  old  man,  well 
liked.  The  troop  of  men  of  war  (when  fully 
recruited)  was  to  mess  in  the  'tween-decks  ;  just 

197 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

forward  of  the  officers'  cabins  and  the  wardroom. 
At  sea,  they  were  to  work  the  mizen-mast,  stand- 
ing three  watches.  In  battle,  half  of  them  were  to 
man  the  quarter-deck  guns,  while  the  other  half 
walked  the  poop  as  sharpshooters.  But  all  of 
them,  at  all  times,  were  to  obey  the  officers  of  the 
ship  like  the  other  members  of  her  crew.  It  was  a 
pleasure  to  Perrin  to  help  in  the  arrangement  of 
the  'tween-decks  for  the  reception  of  these  men. 
He  screwed  in  hammock-hooks  and  battens,  and 
designed  removable  mess-tables  which  the  car- 
penter, being  one  of  the  politest  of  men,  thought 
equal  to  the  Navy. 

Trade  throve  beyond  their  dreams  ;  for  the 
Bro\en  Heart  was  the  first  ship  in  since  the  tobacco 
crop.  Her  general  cargo  of  hemp  and  flax  seed, 
tools,  wines,  ploughs,  linens  and  woollens,  boxes, 
cart-wheels,  rope,  weapons,  books,  and  musical 
instruments,  sold  at  good  rates,  for  silver  and  leaf 
tobacco. 

Captain  Margaret  had  planned  to  arrive  at 
Jamestown  early  in  the  season,  so  that  he  might 
secure  the  cream  of  the  tobacco  crop  before  the 
summer  fleet  came  in.  Now  that  he  was  safe  for  a 
little  while,  he  set  about  his  business.  At  the  end 
of  the  fifth  day  he  chartered  a  couple  of  swift  sloops 
from  a  Jamaica  merchant,  and  loaded  them,  in  one 
day,  under  official  supervision,  with  fifty  tons  of 
assorted  goods.  He  kept  some  twenty  seamen  at 
the  work,  from  turn-to  time  till  sunset,  driving 
them  himself  His  zeal  startled  all  of  them.  But 
Margaret  was  working  with  his  whole  nature  to 
save  the  merchants  who  had  fitted  him  out.  He 
felt  that  he  had  risked  their  money,  by  gratifying  a 

198 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

foolish  whim  ;  now  he  was  to  save  them,  having 
seen  his  chance.  The  bales  and  casks  swung  up 
out  of  the  hold  into  the  sloops.  The  winches 
clanked,  the  ropes  creaked,  the  bosun  swore  at  the 
slingmen.  The  slingmen,  dripping  in  the  hot 
darkness,  damned  and  spat,  and  worked  their  hands 
full  of  splinters.  A  fine  dust  rose  up  out  of  the 
hatch  to  quiver  in  the  sunlight.  The  slings  fell 
with  a  rattling  thud  on  to  the  boxes  below  ;  the 
block  creaked  as  the  fall  was  overhauled  ;  a  thirsty- 
throat  called  *  Hoist.'  The  bosun,  too  hurried  to 
pipe,  bent  over  the  coamings  to  spit,  telling  the 
men  on  deck  to  hoist  or  sway  away.  Up  came  the 
boxes  and  casks,  swinging  to  the  yard-arm  tackle. 
The  boatswain,  bearing  them  over,  swearing, 
followed  them  to  the  rail,  as  the  yard-arm  was 
rounded  in.  Then  there  came  the  ^  High  enough. 
Walk  back  *  ;  and  the  sling  strained  slowly  down- 
wards to  the  stevedores,  whose  black  skins  gleamed 
in  the  sun.  By  sunset  the  sloops  were  cast  off 
from  the  Broken  Heart.  Cammock  and  Margaret 
swung  themselves  into  the  stern  of  one  of  them  as 
she  sheered  out.  The  slingmen,  relieved  from 
their  hell  below,  stared  at  them  silently  over  the 
rail  with  grime-ringed  eyes.  The  sweat  had  streaked 
the  dirt  on  their  faces,  making  them  look  haggard. 
Like  a  row  of  corpses,  dug  up  after  the  first  day  of 
burial,  those  silent  men  stood.  Margaret,  looking 
at  them,  thought  with  horror  that  the  lives  of  some 
men  might  be  expressed,  defined,  summed,  in  a 
sort  of  purser's  tally  :  so  many  boxes  hoisted  out, 
so  many  creatures  killed,  so  many  pots  drunk,  so 
many  books  read  :  with  the  sum  added,  the  life 
extinct,  nothing  remaining,  nothing  for  God  or  the 

199 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Devil ;  merely  a  sum  in  addition  for  the  harping 
quirers. 

Sail  was  packed  upon  the  sloops.  All  that  night 
they  drove,  a  red  lamp  burning  astern.  At  dawn, 
when  the  sea  below  the  woods  was  like  steel,  though 
tremulous  in  pale  light,  they  were  standing  in  to  a 
jetty  on  the  Accomac  side.  It  was  dusk  in  the 
clearing  where  the  house  stood  ;  but  the  stumps  of 
felled  trees  stood  up  black,  a  troop  of  dwarfs  ;  and 
the  cattle  moved  dimly  among  them,  cropping  grass 
with  a  wrench.  Casks  stood  at  the  edge  of  the 
jetty  ;  there  was  a  gleam  upon  their  hoops.  There 
was  a  gleam  of  dew  upon  the  forest,  as  a  little 
dawn-wind,  stirring  the  birds,  made  a  patter  of 
dropping.  A  fire  with  a  waving  flame  burned 
under  a  pent-house,  making  a  thick,  sweet  smoke, 
which  floated  everywhere,  smelling  of  burning  gum, 
driving  away  the  mosquitoes.  When  the  flame 
leaped  up,  brightly  shaking,  it  showed  a  tilted  cart, 
with  a  man  under  a  red  robe  asleep  against  the 
wheel.  Quietly,  before  the  light  was  come,  they 
made  the  sloops  fast  and  stepped  ashore.  They 
stamped  to  kill  the  numbness  in  their  feet  ;  then, 
rousing  the  sleeper,  they  helped  him  to  prepare  a 
breakfast,  of  apples,  fish,  and  new  cider,  before 
trading  for  his  tobacco. 

All  that  day  they  plied  along  the  Accomac  coast, 
Cammock  in  the  Peachy  Margaret  in  the  Daisy,- 
buying  tobacco  at  every  clearing,  paying  the  planters 
in  goods.  When  the  Peach  sloop  was  full.  Cam- 
mock  drove  her  back,  with  her  boom-end  under,  to 
sling  the  tobacco  into  the  Broken  Heart  at  dawn, 
and  to  fill  up  again  with  trade.  Margaret's  keen- 
ness   puzzled    him  ;    the   man   was   on    fire.      '  I 

300 


The   TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

thought  he  was  one  of  these  dreamy  fellows/  he 
said  to  himself.  *  But  he  drives  a  tight  bargain, 
and  he  goes  at  it  like  a  tiger.' 

He  went  aboard  the  ship,  putting  all  hands  to 
the  work  of  clearing  and  reloading  the  sloop.  Mr. 
Cottrill  met  him  at  the  gangway  with  word  that  two 
of  their  best  men  had  deserted  from  the  trading- 
booth,  taking  with  them  about  fifty  pounds'  worth 
of  goods  ;  that  they  had  gone  off  at  sunset,  just  as 
the  sloops  cast  off;  and  that  one  of  the  men  aboard 
had  heard  that  they  were  going  for  a  run  with  a  gang 
of  Indian-snatchers.  Worse  still.  The  foretop- 
mast  was  sprung  at  the  heel,  and  the  new  spar 
couldn't  be  ready  for  a  week.  Cammock  had  been 
at  a  driving  strain  for  a  couple  of  days  ;  but,  like 
most  hard  cases,  he  found  the  second  day  a  day  of 
exaltation,  of  nervous  excitement.  The  news  pleased 
him  ;  it  occupied  his  mind.  He  bade  his  men  get 
out  trade  from  all  three  hatches  as  fast  as  the 
winches  could  sway  it  out,  while  he  with  a  dozen 
men  went  ashore  in  the  sloop,  still  half  full  of 
tobacco. 

As  soon  as  he  got  ashore  he  struck  the  booth, 
crammed  all  the  goods  into  the  sloop,  lock,  stock, 
and  barrel,  and  carried  them  back  aboard.  As 
they  were  thrust  into  the  sloop  he  made  a  rough 
inventory. 

*Now,  Mr.  Cottrill,'  he  said,  ^just  take  this 
list  and  check  it  as  soon  as  you've  got  a  chance. 
Then  check  it  with  the  trade-book,  and  find  out 
what's  missing.  Then  check  that  with  the  clerk's 
list.  Rig  up  an  awning  from  the  break  of  the 
poop  to  the  mast  there.  That'll  be  your  trade 
booth.     Call  the  trade   clerk.      Call   Mrs.    Inigo. 

20I 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Mr.  Harthop,  you'll  keep  your  trade  booth  here 
in  future.  Mrs.  Inigo,  you'll  have  to  give  up 
your  berth  in  the  sail-locker.  See  to  that,  Mr. 
Cottrill.  Mrs.  Inigo'll  sleep  in  the  steward's 
room.  The  steward'll  have  to  go  into  the 
round-house.  Mr.  Harthop,  you'll  use  the  sail- 
room,  where  Mrs.  Inigo's  been  sleeping,  as  your 
sample-room.  See  that  no  one  goes  up  the  alley- 
way to  the  cabin.  Keep  a  clear  gangway  from  the 
alley  to  the  companion  there.  Mr.  Cottrill,  give 
Mr.  Harthop  three  hands  and  let  him  arrange  his 
shop.  He'd  better  stone  out  the  sail-room  after 
breakfast.  Shift  your  things,  Mrs.  Inigo.  You, 
too,  steward.  Mr.  Cottrill,  pick  out  three  good 
hands  to  be  under  Mr.  Harthop.  Quiet,  steady 
men.  Pick  one  or  two  of  the  boys.  Mr.  Harthop, 
what  were  you  doing  to  let  those  men  away  ^ ' 

Mr.  Harthop,  a  little,  bald,  jocular  man,  with  a 
pale  face,  and  long,  drooping  moustaches,  which 
gave  him  a  sad,  Chinese  expression,  rolled  slowly 
forward,  peering  under  his  spectacles. 

'  I'd  gone  up  to  the  Governor's  house,  sir,  with 
some  velvets.' 

'  Why  didn't  you  send  one  of  the  men  }  Or 
wait  till  trade  was  over  for  the  day  1 ' 

'  The  Governor's  lady  asked  me  to  come,  Captain 
Cammock.' 

'Women'll  be  the  death  of  this  cruise,'  said 
Cammock  to  himself.  '  Who  was  in  charge  while 
you  were  gone  } ' 

*  Smale,  the  boy.  Captain  Cammock,  sir.  I  was 
only  gone  twenty  minutes.' 

'  There  it  is,'  said  Cammock.  ^  Smale,  how 
did  this  happen  ^ ' 

202 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

*  Please,  zur/  said  Smale,  a  short  young  ploughboy 
from  Gloucestershire,  '  I  were  a-*avin*  my  zupper, 
zur.  'N  I  seed  a  owd  feller  come  up  and  give  'is 
fist  like  to  Andrews.  And  her'd  a-done  it  avore. 
Zo  they  talked,  and  by'n  by.  Captain  Cammock, 
zur,  another  feller  come  like.  Her  said  as  Mr. 
Harthop  said  as  1  wus  to  go  to  Governor's  house, 
to  fetch  a  few  fowls  for  th'  'en-coop.  Zo  I  went. 
And  her'd  all  gone  avore  I'd  come  back.  And 
her'd  took  the  things.' 

Cammock  kept  back  what  he  thought  of  the 
Governor's  wife. 

*  Mr.  Cottrill,'  he  said.  *  You,  Mr.  Ramage, 
and  the  bosun,  will  have  to  stand  trade  watches. 
No  visitor  is  to  talk  to  any  of  the  hands  under 
any  pretext  whatsoever.' 

*  Ay,  ay,  sir.  I  thought  1  could  have  trusted 
Andrews.' 

'  You  may  go,  Mr.  Harthop.  It  ought  never 
to  have  been  allowed.  Directly  my  back  was 
turned.'  He  was  blaming  himself  for  having  been 
so  easy  of  access,  and  so  friendly  with  old  acquaint- 
ance. *  Naturally,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  the  men 
got  notions.  Well,  they'll  get  no  more.'  He 
walked  to  the  waist,  where  the  work  was  going 
busily  with  songs.  The  sloop  was  being  loaded 
forward  as  she  discharged  abaft.  His  presence 
made  the  men  zealous.  He  had  never  seen  cargo 
worked  so  well. 

*  Bosun,'  he  called,  '  who's  night  watchman  }  * 

*  Pearson,  Captain  Cammock,'  said  Harris.  He 
smeared  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and 
left  a  cask  to  dangle  aloft  over  the  hatch.  He  ran 
towards  Cammock  in  a  shambling  trot. 

203 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'Tell  Pearson  that  1  want  him.  Mr.  Cottrill, 
choose  a  good  man  to  stand  night  watchman 
with  Pearson,  to  walk  round  the  ship,  harbour- 
guard,  all  night  long,  in  opposite  directions.  No 
man  whatever  to  come  aboard  or  to  leave  the  ship 
after  sunset.  Pearson,  when  you  come  on  duty 
to-night  you'll  apply  to  Mr.  Ramage  for  a  pair  of 
pistols.  You're  to  shoot  at  any  man  who  attempts 
to  desert.  You're  to  heave  cold  shot  into  any  boat 
which  tries  to  come  alongside.  Tell  the  lamp-man 
he's  to  have  lanterns  lit  abreast  the  main  and  fore 
chains.  Call  all  hands  if  any  boat  comes  off  to 
us  after  two  bells.  You're  to  shoot  at  any  boat 
which  does  not  answer  to  a  hail.    You  understand.' 

'  Yes,  sir.     Shoot  at  any  man  as  tries  to  desert,- 
and  any  boat  as  don't  reply.' 

'  H'm,'  said  Cammock  to  himself,  noting  the 
faces  of  the  crew.  '  There'll  be  no  more  deserting 
from  this  hooker.' 

'  Carry  on,'  he  said  aloud.  *  Bosun,  call  away 
the  gig.  Let  the  gig's  crew  dress.  Doctor,  there, 
kill  me  six  fowls.  The  best  we've  got  in  the  fatten- 
ing coop.  Steward  there.  Call  the  steward  you, 
boy.  Tell  him  to  bring  a  dozen  Burgundy.  Now, 
Mr.  Cottrill,  a  word  with  you,  sir.  Mr.  Perrin 
and  the  rest,  are  they  all  well  ^ ' 

'  As  far  as  1  know,  they  are,  sir.' 

*  Mr.  Stukeley  } ' 

*  Mr.  Stukeley's  like  fat  Jack  of  the  Boneyard, 
1  guess,  sir.     He's  bigger  than  the  admiral.' 

'What's  he  been  doing  ?' 

'  He's  been  wanting  the  gig's  crew  all  day.  I  told 
him  I  needed  the  men  in  the  hold.  He'd  have  to  use 
the  long-boat,  I  said,  when  she  goes  in  for  water.' 

204 


The   TOBACCO   MERCHANT 

'Very  right.     Yes?' 

"  So  he  came  and  called  me  down  before  the 
men.  Said  1  wasn't  a  gentleman.  He  said  as 
Captain  Margaret  had  said  he  and  his  lady  was  to 
have  the  gig  whenever  they  wanted  her.' 

*  Was  Mrs.  Stukeley  there  ?' 

'  No,  sir.  So  I  up  and  said  that  I'd  had  no 
orders.  Then  he  calls  me  down  some  more  ;  and 
goes  and  gets  Mr.  Perrin  to  come  to  me,  to  say 
that  Captain  Margaret  wished  to  oblige  Mr. 
Stukeley  in  all  things.' 

'Yes.?' 

'  So  I  told  Mr.  Perrin,  pretty  quick,  I  said,  I 
was  in  command,  I  said.  It  wasn't  for  him  to  tell 
me  my  duty.  I  told  him  to  tell  his  society  friends 
they  could  do  the  Barney's  Bull  act.  They'd  get 
no  gig  out  of  me.     That's  what  I  said.' 

'  Yes  r 

'  So  that  Mr.  Stukeley,  he  went  ashore  in  the 
long-boat,  after  calling  me  down  some  more  before 
the  men.  He  got  a  shore-boat  to  go  about  in. 
After  that  he  said  his  boatman  should  have  dinner 
aboard  of  us.  I  stopped  that.  But  Mr.  Stukeley 
was  very  rude,  and  then  the  man  got  rude.  All 
hands  working  the  hatch  there,  hearing  it  all.  Mrs. 
Stukeley  beside.  So  that  was  two  blocks,  I  thought. 
I  give  the  boatman  a  thick  ear  there  and  then.  I 
told  him  if  he  didn't  sheer  off  I'd  drop  a  cold  shot 
into  him.  And  I  would  have.  Mr.  Stukeley  told 
me  to  keep  my  hands  off  the  man.  Then  the  man 
wanted  his  money.  My  hat,  we  had  it  all  up  and 
down.  I  thought  that  Stukeley  would  hit  me,  one 
time.     I  wish  'e  'ad  done.     I'd  a  laid  him  out.' 

'  And  Mr.  Perrin  ?     How  did  it  end  V 
205 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  I  saw  some  of  the  hands  knocked  off  to  listen, 
so  I  give  them  a  few.  And  he  stood  there  telling 
them  not  to  take  no  blows.  Telling  em  to  down 
me.  And  then  the  long-boat  come  alongside  with 
water.  Mr.  Ramage  was  in  her,  of  course.  He 
hears  the  row,  and  he  come  over  the  side  just  as 
quick  as  cut.  He  just  took  that  Stukeley  by  the 
arm,  and  walked  him  into  the  alleyway.  "  Don't 
you  incite  no  sailors,  sir,"  he  says.  '^  No  more  of 
that,  sir.  I  respects  your  feelings,  sir,"  he  says, 
"but  for  Gord's  and  your  lady's  sake,"  he  says, 
"  you  quit.  You  don't  know  what  you're  doin'." 
That  was  the  end  for  that  time.  I  suppose  we'll 
'ave  another  dollop  of  it  to-day.' 

'  Put  him  in  irons  at  once,  publicly,  if  he  gives 
you  any  more  trouble.  And  he's  not  to  talk  to 
any  man.  That's  another  thing.  Iron  him  directly 
he  gives  a  back  answer.  Tell  Mr.  Ramage,  too. 
Now  bring  those  fowls  along,  doctor.  I'm  off 
to  the  man-of-war  sloop,  about  them  Indian- 
snatchers.' 

He  pulled  aboard  the  man-of-war  sloop,  with  his 
present  of  wine  and  poultry.  As  he  sat  in  his  gig 
calling  to  the  men  to  pull  the  stroke  out,  he  wrote 
descriptions  of  the  missing  seamen. 

When  he  returned  to  the  Broken  Hearty  the  sloop 
was  nearly  full  of  trade.  It  was  just  half-past 
seven.  He  went  to  his  cabin  to  wash,  walking 
quickly  and  quietly,  like  a  forest  Indian.  There 
was  some  slight  noise  to  his  left  as  he  entered  the 
alleyway.  He  turned  sharply,  to  look  into  the 
sail-room,  to  see  if  it  were  ready  for  the  samples. 
The  door  shut  in  his  face  with  a  bang.  He  could 
not  swear  to  it — the  door  shut  in  a  fraction  of  a 

206 


The    TOBACCO   MERCHANT 

second — yet  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  seen 
Stukeley  with  Mrs.  Inlgo,  for  one  bright  flash  of 
time.  He  would  not  open  to  make  sure  ;  for  it 
was  a  woman's  ca^bin  ;  he  might  have  been  mis- 
taken ;  but  he  turned  in  his  tracks  and  blew  his 
whistle.     A  man  ran  to  him. 

'  Get  some  dry  stone,  and  stone  this  door  clean,' 
he  said,  showing  Mrs.  Inigo's  door.  ^  Stone  the 
outside,  and  keep  at  it  till  breakfast.*  That  would 
keep  Stukeley  within  (if  he  were  within)  until  break- 
fast, at  any  rate.  He  flung  his  clothes  from  him 
and  swilled  himself  with  water  ;  then  dressed 
rapidly  and  went  to  Perrin's  cabin.  '  Mr.  Perrin,* 
he  said,  bursting  in  after  knocking  once,  ^  how  are 
you,  Mr.  Perrin  }  I  want  you  to  keep  your  eye 
on  Mrs.  Inigo's  door.  See  who  comes  out  of  it. 
Is  Mrs.  Stukeley  well  ? ' 

'Very  well.     How  are  you  and  the  captain  V 

'  The  captain'll  be  back  later  in  the  day.  I'm 
just  off  again.' 

'We'd  a  lot  of  trouble  yesterday.  I'll  be  glad 
when  you're  back  for  good.' 

'  Cheer  up,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  '  Remember. 
Mrs.  Inigo's  door  till  one  bell.  If  Mrs.  Inigo 
comes  out,  open  it  and  search  the  cabin.'  He 
went  on  deck  again,  where  the  steward  met  him 
with  a  tray.  He  sat  down  on  a  coaming  and  made 
a  hurried  breakfast,  while  the  sloop's  crew  hoisted 
sail.  When  he  had  finished  his  meal,  he  glanced 
into  the  alleyway,  where  the  man  was  rubbing 
holystone  across  the  door.  '  Anybody  in  there  } ' 
he  said. 

'  I  hear  some  one  shifting  around,  sir,'  said  the 
man.     'The  woman's  getting  her  gear,  sir.' 

207 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Right/  said  Cammock.  '  I  wish  I  could  stay- 
to  see  the  end,'  he  said  to  himself.  '  But  1  must 
be  off/  In  a  few  minutes  he  was  bound  again 
for  Accomac,  under  a  huge  square  cutter's  foresail, 
which  made  the  sloop  leap  like  a  flying-fish. 

Very  late  one  night,  having  just  arrived  aboard 
after  a  week  of  labour,  Captain  Margaret  sat  in 
his  cabin  comparing  tally-books  with  Captain 
Cammock  ;  but  quietly,  lest  they  should  wake 
Perrin.  He  was  very  tired  ;  for  the  hurry  from 
one  clearing  to  another,  and  the  long  rides  into  the 
wilderness  to  planters  who  lived  far  away,  had 
been  a  strain.  He  had  endured  them  only  in  the 
fire  of  his  excitement.  He  had  enjoyed  his  week 
of  bargaining  ;  the  zest  of  the  struggle  had  been 
like  wine  to  him.  On  the  lonely  clearings,  or 
drinking  with  strangers  in  woodmen's  shacks,  he 
had  forgotten  his  love,  forgotten  the  torment  of 
the  voyage,  Olivia's  child,  the  settlement  on  Darien. 
All  had  been  forgotten.  Now  that  the  struggle 
was  over,  he  felt  the  exhaustion  ;  but  nodding 
as  he  was,  over  his  tally-book,  his  whirling  brain 
praised  him  with  that  excited  inner  voice  which 
talks  to  the  overwrought.  '  You've  got  the  pick 
of  the  crop,  the  pick  of  the  crop,  the  cream  of 
the  year's  leaf,'  the  voice  kept  telling  him.  He  had 
bought  seven  hundred  tons  of  the  best  tobacco  in 
the  colony  ;  the  little  that  remained  to  be  sold  was 
the  poor,  crude  leaf  from  the  young  plants,  and 
the  poorly  cured,  poorly  flavoured  leaf  from  the 
distant  walks  in  the  forest. 

'  We've  got  the  whole  trade,  sir,'  said  Cammock. 
'  You  needn't  fear  for  your  owners.' 

'No,'  said  Margaret.     'Now  to  get  a  bottom  to 
208 


The    TOBACCO  MERCHANT 

carry  it  home.  Of  course,  in  a  week  we  ought  to 
have  the  summer  fleet  here.' 

'They'll  not  find  much,'  said  Cammock.  'WeVe 
got  it  all.  But  supposing  a  letter  comes  with  the 
fleet.  We  shall  have  to  sail  that  night  probably, 
shan't  we  ?  Supposing  we've  to  cut  and  run,  leav- 
ing it  all  in  the  warehouse  ? ' 

'  I've  thought  of  that,'  said  Margaret,  '  I  thought 
of  that,  too.  Heigho,  captain,  I'm  tired.  This 
week  has  been  an  experience.  I  shall  leave  Mr. 
Harthop  in  charge  ashore,  with  powers  to  deal. 
He's  shrewd.  He's  got  a  funny  way  of  getting  at 
the  point  with  that  queer  humour  as  a  cloak.  And 
I've  got  Howard,  Cammock.    Howard's  our  agent.' 

^  YouVe  got  the  Governor,  sir  } ' 

*  Oh  yes.  That  was  my  first  move.  I  knew 
old  Howard  wanted  specie  ;  so  I  went  to  see  him 
and  told  him  my  plans.  He  was  expensive,  though. 
He  knew  his  worth  to  a  penny.' 

*  What  it  is  to  be  a  gentleman.  If  I'd  gone,  he'd 
have  kicked  me  out.    Well.     Birth  tells,  they  say.' 

Perrin  sat  up  in  his  bunk,  and  looked  at  them 
through  the  curtains. 

'  A  servile,  insolent,  bribing,  tipping  race,  the 
English,'  he  said.  'An  Englishman  will  never 
do  anything  for  any  one  without  expecting  some- 
thing.' 

'  Oh,  you're  awake,  are  you  }  At  it  again,  too,' 
said  Cammock.     'How  about  that  door,  sir?' 

'  Well,  Edward,  how  are  you  ^  What  door  is 
this  ? ' 

'Oh.  Mrs.  Inigo's  door,'  said  Perrin.  'Oh 
yes.  Yes.  Mrs.  Inigo  came  out  at  eight  bells, 
and  then  I  tried  to  get  in.  But  it  was  locked 
p  209 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

on  the  inside.  So  I  called  Mr.  Harthop's  three 
men,  and  the  man  who  was  scrubbing  it.' 

'  Good.     Good/  said  Cammock. 

'And  1  told  them  "the  door  was  jammed.''  So 
they'd  a  jemmy  there,  for  opening  cases  with,  and  we 
burst  the  door  open.    We  found  Stukeley  inside.' 

'  Stukeley  ^ '  said  Margaret.  '  I  half  suspected 
that.' 

'He  was  on  his  knees  on  the  deck,  sponging 
that  blue  silk  dress  Olivia  wears.' 

'  Ha,'  said  Captain  Cammock.  '  I  should  never 
have  thought  of  that.' 

'  Shrewd  these  Cornish  women  are.' 

'  He  was  rather  red  in  the  face,  but  he  asked  us 
what  was  the  matter.  Then  he  asked  me  to  give 
him  a  hand,  as  he'd  got  to  get  the  dress  ready  for 
Olivia,  he  said.  She'd  spilt  some  chocolate  down 
it.     It  was ' 

'  Was  he  flustered  ^     Hectoring  .? ' 

'Afterwards.  Not  then.  He  kept  saying  that 
Olivia  wished  to  wear  the  dress  at  breakfast.' 

'  Did  she  ? ' 

'  Yes.  Oh  yes.  I  don't  know,  Charles.  There 
might  have  been  nothing  wrong.' 

'  I  thought  I  saw  something,'  said  Cammock. 

'  Well,'  said  Margaret.  '  I  suppose  we'll  have  to 
discharge  Mrs.  Inigo,  and  pay  her  passage  home. 
Captain  Cammock,  what  do  you  think  of  Stuke- 
ley.?' 

'  I'm  like  the  parrot,'  said  Cammock,  '  I  think  a 
lot  more'n  I'll  say.  Now  turn  in,  all  hands.  A 
long  lie,  and  pie  for  dinner.  Captain  Margaret,  if 
you  don't  turn  in,  you'll  find  you  won't  sleep.  Oh. 
Has  Mr.  Stukeley  been  in  irons  V 

2IO 


The  TOBACCO   MERCHANT 

*He*s  been  threatened  with  them.  He*s  been 
very  quiet  though  lately.  That  Inigo  time  gave 
him  a  scare,  I  think.' 

'  Well.     Good  night,  gentlemen.' 

'  Good  night.' 

As  Captain  Margaret  drew  his  bunk-curtains 
and  settled  himself  to  sleep,  the  voices  in  his  brain 
took  bodies  to  them,  fiery  bodies,  which  leaned  and 
called  to  him.  '  You've  got  the  pick  of  the  crop, 
the  pick  of  the  crop,  the  pick  of  the  crop,'  they 
called.  ^  Lucky  devil.  Lucky  devil.  Oh,  you 
lucky  devil.' 


2U 


VIII 
TN  PORT 

*  Yet  still  he  stands  prefract  and  insolent.' 

Charles^  Duke  of  Byrofi, 

A  FTER  breakfast  the  next  morning  the  two 
-^^  Stukeleys  sat  in  their  stateroom  talking.  They 
had  had  a  week  of  comparative  isolation,  of  com- 
parative privacy,  very  sweet  to  Olivia,  who  had 
learned,  during  the  voyage,  to  regret  the  days  at 
Salcombe,  when  one  had  but  to  close  a  door,  to 
shut  the  world  of  love  from  that  other  world,  full 
of  thorns  and  thistles,  where  ordinary  mortals 
walked,  not  having  the  key  of  the  burning  imagina- 
tion. With  Margaret  and  Cammock  away,  and 
Perrin  seldom  present  at  meals,  owing  to  his  fear 
of  the  badgering  Stukeley,  the  cabin  of  the  Broken 
Heart  had  come  to  be  something  of  a  home  to  her. 
She  could  feel  again  that  nothing  else  really  existed, 
that  no  one  else  really  lived,  that  all  the  world,  all 
the  meaning  and  glory  and  life  of  the  world, 
centred  in  the  two  burning  mouths,  in  the  two 
hearts  which  divined  each  other,  apprehending  all 
things  in  themselves.  During  that  week  of  privacy 
she  had  even  learned  to  think  tenderly  again  of  the 


IN  PORT 

three  men  who  had  shared  the  cabin  with  her.    She 
found  that  she  no  longer  resented  Cammock's  want 
of  breeding  ;    his   want   of  culture  ;    his    past    as 
explained  by  Tom  ;  his  social  position  as  compared 
with    her    aunt    Pile's    coachman.      During     the 
voyage   she    had   grown   to   dislike   Margaret  and 
Perrin,  much  as  one  dislikes  the  guests  who  have 
overstayed  their  welcome.     She  had  been  too  much 
in    the  rapture   of  love   to   see   things   clearly,   to 
judge  character  clearly  ;   she  had  taken  her  judg- 
ments   ready-made    from   Tom,  who   disliked   the 
two  men.    She  had  liked  them  both  as  old  friends  ; 
had  liked  them  much,  in  the  old  days,  before  she 
knew  life.    But,  under  the  strain  of  the  voyage,  ever 
prompted  by  Stukeley's   bitterness,  while  looking 
on   them   as  her  friends,  she  had   come  to  resent 
their  continual  presence,  to  be  cross  at  their  con- 
versation,   which    (as    she    felt    instinctively)    was 
restrained  by  their  dislike  of  Tom,  through  their 
want  of  imaginative  sympathy  with  his  point  of 
view.     Now  that  they  were  no  longer  ever  present, 
like  spices  added  to  each  dish  till  every  dish  dis- 
gusts, she  thought  of  them  both  with  pity  ;  feeling 
that  they  were  growing  old  in  their  ways,  narrowed 
in  their  sympathies,  never  knowing  the  meaning  of 
life,  which  is  love.     Thus  thought  she,  in  the  con- 
fidence of  exulting  health,  in  the  rapture  of  being 
possessed,  with  the  merciless  pity  of  a  newly  married 
woman.     This  that  she  had  waited  for,  this  love 
which  crowned  and  made  her,  it  cleared  the  eyes, 
she  thought,  it  exalted,  it  ennobled,  it  glorified.    She 
would  that  those  two  pathetic  figures,  Margaret  so 
serious  and  proud,  with  his  clumsy  walk,  and  halt- 
ing, almost  affected,  picked  precision  of  phrase,  and 

213 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Perrin,  the  forlorn  parasite  who  looked  as  though 
he  had  been  frozen,  were  married  ;  she  would  so 
gladly  see  them  happy,  tasting  something  of  the 
joy  which  made  earth  heaven  to  her.  Margaret 
would  be  a  beautiful  lover,  very  thoughtful  and 
tender,  but  cold  ;  he  was  cold-hearted,  she  thought, 
and  rather  frightening.  Perrin  would  be  attracted 
by  some  little  merry  woman  who  would  laugh  at 
him  and  twist  him  round  her  finger.  Perrin,  she 
confessed  to  Tom,  attracted  her  more  than  the 
other,  because  he  looked  so  wretched.  Being  so 
happy  herself,  she  wished  others  to  be  happy.  Her 
education,  like  most  women's  education,  had  been 
aimed  to  make  her  fear  the  world,  to  make  her 
shrink  from  those  characters  who  judged  the  world 
and  sought  to  direct  it.  Her  own  world,  beautiful 
as  it  was,  existed  only  by  the  exclusion  of  such 
characters  ;  her  nature  could  not  accept  Margaret 
wholly  ;  she  could  only  respect  and  vaguely  fear 
him,  as  one  respects  and  fears  all  things  which  one 
is  not  wise  enough  to  understand.  Perrin  looked 
wretched,  and  having  a  tenderness  for  wretched 
folk,  she  thought  that  she  understood  him.  All 
the  time,  unknown  to  her,  the  three  men  summed 
her  up  with  pity  and  reverence  and  tender  devo- 
tion ;  but  mostly  with  pity,  and  with  a  mournful, 
tender  curiosity.  It  was  perhaps  partly  that  curi- 
osity which  had  made  their  absence  pleasant  to  her. 
Their  absence  had  been  a  relief  to  her,  it  had  also 
relieved  her  husband.  And  since  their  arrival  at 
Virginia  her  husband  had  made  her  anxious  ;  he 
had  behaved  very  queerly  at  times,  ever  since  the 
first  day.  She  felt  that  he  was  keeping  something 
from  her,  perhaps  some  ailment  which  tortured  him 

214 


IN  PORT     . 

and  made  him  irritable.  She  had  been  very  thank- 
ful to  have  her  dear  love  so  much  to  herself  during 
an  entire  week. 

But  at  breakfast  that  morning  the  presence  of 
the  three  men  (and  the  prospect  of  their  future 
presence)  had  shown  her  how  much  she  longed  for 
the  quiet  retirement  of  a  home,  where  life  could  be 
culled,  chosen,  made  up  as  one  makes  a  nosegay,  by 
beautiful  friends,  art,  music,  all  the  essences  of 
life,  all  doubly  precious  to  her  now  that  life  had 
become  so  precious. 

*  Tom,*  she  said,  *  Tom,  dear,  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  about  our  life  here.  I  don't  think  it  can  go 
on,  dear.* 

'  Why,  little  Olive,  what's  up  ?  What  ruffles 
your  serenity  ? ' 

'Tom,  dear,  1  cannot  bear  this  ship  life.  And 
those  three  men.  At  every  meal  I  feel  that  one  of 
them  is  watching  me.  Oh,  and  no  woman  to  talk 
to.  I  think  of  our  lovely  times  at  Salcombe,  Tom. 
We  could  shut  the  door  ;  and  it  would  be  just  our 
two  selves.' 

'  Jolly  times  at  Salcombe,  hadn't  we  ?  But 
what's  the  matter,  eh  ? ' 

'  This  ship  life,  Tom.  It's  that.  The  men  are 
so  rude,  and  so  rude  to  you,  Tom.  I  can't  go  on 
with  it.     1  want  to  go  back  to  England.' 

*  But  I've  promised  to  go  to  Darien,  Olive.' 

'  I  know,  dear.  I  know.  Don't  think  me  very 
foolish,  Tom.  But  I  don't  think  I'm  strong 
enough.  Tom,  darling,  could  not  we  leave  this 
life  ?  Think  how  rude  Mr.  Cottrill  was  to  you 
only  the  other  day.  I  do  so  long  for  our  old 
happy  life  together.     Away  from  the  sea.' 

215 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  Look  here,  Livy.  I  understand.  YouVe  lonely. 
Suppose  we  go  and  stay  ashore  for  a  while.  You 
would  meet  ladies  ashore.  YouVe  met  them 
already.' 

'Tom,  I  can't  meet  those  ladies.  They're  not 
nice.' 

'  What's  wrong  with  them  }  What's  wrong 
with  Mrs.  Montague  ? ' 

'  I  feel  that  she   isn't  a  nice  woman.     That  she 

isn't You  know  I  went  to  see  her  the  day 

before  yesterday.  She  was  hung  about  with  silver 
just  like  a  savage,  and  all  the  young  officers  were 
there,  playing  cards.  And  Captain  Montague  had 
gone  to  Charlestown,  and  she  was  alone  there,  with 
all  those  men.  So  I  sat  down  for  a  moment  to  rest 
after  the  walk  and  then  came  away.  That  was  no 
place  for  me.' 

*Well,  we  could  stop  with  the  Governor. 
Maggy  knows  him.  What's  wrong  with  old  Mrs. 
Prinsep  } ' 

*  I  don't  like  her,  Tom.  She's  a  bitter  woman. 
Oh,  Tom,  let's  go  home.' 

'  But  I've  promised,  Livy.' 

*  Yes,  dear.  I  know.  But  we  can't  always 
keep  our  promises.  We  can't  go  to  Darien.  We 
can't.' 

*  But  what  else  can  we  do  }  We  must,  my 
dear.  I  can't  pay  our  passage  home.  I  came 
away  in  such  a  rush.  I've  not  got  five  pounds 
with  me.' 

^  Oh,  Tom,  Tom.  But  that  doesn't  matter,  dear. 
We  could  borrow.  Charles  or  Edward  would  lend 
to  us.' 

*  No,  thanks,  Livy.  There  are  some  things  I  draw 

216 


IN  PORT 

the  line  at.   I  can't  take  a  man's  hospitality  and  then 
borrow  money  from  him.' 

'  But I  know  them  better  than  you  do,  Tom. 

I  could  ask  them.' 

*  Do  you  suppose,  Livy,  that  I  could  let  you 
borrow  money  from  any  man  ? ' 

'Then  we  could  ask  for  a  passage  home  in  the 
convoy  to  the  summer  fleet.     They  would  take  us.' 

Stukeley  smiled  uneasily,  knowing  only  too  well 
how  likely  he  was  to  get  a  passage  home  with  that 
convoy  in  any  case. 

*  Olive,'  he  said,  'do  you  remember  a  tale  Captain 
Cammock  told  us  about  a  little  ruined  city  full  of 
gold?' 

'  Yes,'  she  answered. 

'  D'you  know,  Olive,  I've  been  half  planning 
with  Cammock  to  go  to  look  for  that  ruined  city. 
You  see,  Livy,  we  shall  only  be  here  probably  till 
the  summer  fleet  arrives.  Ten  days,  or  so.  Do 
you  think  you  could  stand  it  for  another  month 
or  two  ?  If  we  found  that  city,  I  could  buy 
my  little  Olive  that  summer  cottage  we  set  our 
hearts  on.* 

'Oh,  take  me  home,  Tom.  Never  mind  the 
cottage.  And  I  couldn't  have  you  going  into  the 
forest.     I  couldn't  be  alone  In  the  ship.' 

'  But  then,  Olive.  Since  I  married  my  little 
Olive  here,  I've  been  wanting  to  do  something  for 
others.  Living  as  a  bachelor,  one  gets  selfish.  I 
want  very  much  to  help  those  Indians,  Olive.  To 
do  something  in  return  for  you,  dear.' 

'  I  know,  dear.  It's  so  like  you.  It's  noble  of 
you.  But  you  could  do  something  for  the  people 
at  home  :  for  the  poor.     You  could  teach  them. 

217 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

We  could  teach  them  together.  But  oh,  don't  let's 
go  to  Darien,  Tom.  We  shall  be  separated.  Tom, 
I  couldn't  bear  to  be  alone  in  the  ship.  And  there 
may  be  fighting.' 

'  Come,  come,  Livy,'  said  Stukeley.  He  was 
nettled  at  what  he  judged  to  be  her  damned  female 
pigheadedness,  yet  anxious  to  make  his  indignation 
appear  moral.  That  is  the  common  custom  of  the 
wicked,  to  the  world's  misfortune.  ^  Come,  come,' 
he  said,  '  you  mustn't  talk  in  that  way.  We're 
going  to  liberate  the  Indians.  Eh  }  To  show  them 
what  British  Freedom  means.  Eh  }  We  mustn't 
think  of  ourselves,  and  our  little  aches  and  pains. 
We  must  think  of  the  world.'  He  himself  was 
ever  ready  to  think  of  the  world,  or  the  flesh,  or  the 
devil,  or  all  three.  '  We  must  think  of  the  world, 
Livy.  And  if  we  should  succeed.  I  think  you 
would  be  proud  of  me,  Livy.' 

'  I  should  be,  Tom,  dear.  Very,  very  proud. 
But  oh,  Tom,  do  let  us  go  home.  We  should  be 
so  happy  there  again.  Here,  we  can't  get  away 
from  strangers.  I  can't  live  among  these  people. 
They're  dreadful.  And  Darien,  Tom.  It's  a  law- 
less place,  full  of  the  most  terrible  men.' 

'Oh,  they're  all  right,'  he  answered.  'They're 
all  right.  And  I  shall  be  with  you,  my  dear  child. 
We  must  go  to  Darien,  Livy.  My  honour's 
pledged.  I  can't  draw  back  in  honour.  They 
would  call  me  a  coward.  They'd  say  I  was  afraid. 
Besides,  I  can't  very  well  pay  our  way  home.  And 
1  can't  borrow.  You  do  realize  my  position,  Livy  ^ 
We  must  go  on.' 

'  Oh,  Tom,'  said  Olivia,  crying  now,  in  spite  of 
brave  efforts.     'I   didn't  think — I  thought  you'd 

218 


IN  PORT 

take  me  when  I  begged  you.  We  might  be  home 
in  three  weeks.  Oh,  Tom,  do.'  She  clung  to  him, 
looking  up  at  him,  smiling  appeal  in  spite  of  tears. 
Stukeley  bit  his  lips  from  annoyance,  longing  to 
box  her  ears,  to  give  her,  as  he  phrased  it,  some- 
thing to  cry  for.  She  thought  that  he  was  on 
the  rack  between  his  pledged  honour  and  his  love 
for  her. 

'No,  Livy,'  he  said,  parodying  Captain  Margaret's 
manner  towards  an  inferior.  *  No,  Livy,  dear. 
Don't  make  it  hard  for  me.  We  must  never  draw 
back  from  a  noble  cause,  dear.'  He  thought  that 
this  would  bring  more  tears,  and  force  him  to  be 
brutal  ;  he  was  not  going  to  stand  there  while  she 
snivelled  on  his  shoulder.  '  A  snivelling  woman,' 
he  always  maintained,  *  is  not  a  thing  to  be  encour- 
aged.' But  to  his  surprise  his  answer  checked  her 
tears  ;  she  had  never  loved  him  more  than  when 
he  placed  his  honour  even  above  his  love  for 
her. 

'  There,  Tom,'  she  said.  '  Forgive  me.  I  won't 
cry  any  more,  dear.  My  nerves  are  upset.  I 
won't  ask  again,  Tom.  Of  course,  we'll  go  to 
Darien.  But  I  wasn't  thoughtless  of  your  honour, 
Tom.  You  don't  think  that  ?  I  wasn't.  I  was 
only  fidgety  and  frightened.  Women  are  so  silly. 
You  don't  know  how  silly.' 

'There,  there,'  he  said.  'There,  there.  What 
pretty  ears  you've  got,  Livy.  Why  in  the  world 
d'you  wear  earrings  with  ears  like  yours  f ' 

'  They're  only  clip  earrings,  you  old  goose.' 

'  I  shall  bite  them.' 

'  No,  Tom.  Not  my  ears  now.  My  dear  Tom. 
Do  forgive  me.     You  know  I  love  you.' 

319 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*YouVe  got  the  reddest  lips  I  ever  saw  in  a 
woman,  Livy.' 

*  Oh.     Do  you  notice  women's  lips  ?  * 

'  I  notice  yours.  Almost  the  first  thing  I  noticed 
of  you  was  how  red  your  lips  were.  What  do  you 
put  on  them  ? ' 

'  Nothing.  You  put  something  on  them  some- 
times.* 

^What?    A  gag?' 

'  No.  Your  old  silly  mouth  that  asks  so  many 
questions.' 

'  I'll  get  you  some  hot  water  for  your  eyes.  You 
must  bathe  them.' 

'  How  good  and  tender  you  are  to  me, 
Tom.' 

As  he  walked  to  get  a  jugful  of  hot  water  he 
muttered  to  himself  about  her.  '  Bread  and  butter,' 
he  repeated.  '  Bread  and  butter.  A  life  of  bread 
and  butter.  Forty  years  of  it,  good  luck.  Forty 
years  of  it  to  come.  Batter  pudding.'  He  met 
with  Cammock  in  the  alleyway  ;  it  occurred  to  him 
to  be  civil.  *  Captain  Cammock,'  he  said,  *  will 
you  join  me  in  my  smoking-room  after  dinner  to- 
day 1  I've  some  Verinas  tobacco.  I'd  like  your 
opinion  of  it.' 

'Thank  you,  sir,'  said  Cammock,  wondering 
what  had  caused  such  sudden  friendliness.  '  But 
which  do  you  call  your  smoking-room  ^ ' 

'That  little  tiny  cabin  just  forward  of  the  bath- 
room. It's  only  big  enough  for  a  few  chairs  and  a 
bookshelf.' 

'  Oh,  the  after -jiospital,'  said  Cammock.  '  I'll 
be  very  pleased,  sir.  But  where  did  you  speak 
with  Verinas  tobacco,  Mr.  Stukeley  V 

220 


IN  PORT 

*  I  spoke  with  it  ashore/  said  Stukeley,  *  of  a 
Mr.  Davis,  whom  I  think  you  know.* 

*  Ah/  said  Cammock.  '  Indeed  ?  Well.  After 
dinner,  sir.' 

Later  in  the  morning,  Stukeley  tried  his  tobacco 
alone,  on  the  cabin  cushions,  looking  through  the 
windows  at  the  town.  He  added  up  the  chances 
for  and  against  himself,  smiling  with  satisfaction  at 
the  kindly  aspect  of  the  planets.  His  chief  fear 
had  been  an  arrest  on  arrival.  That  fear  had  been 
proved  to  be  groundless.  Then  there  was  the 
chance  of  arrest  after  the  arrival  of  the  summer 
fleet  with  the  mails.  That  chance,  though  possibly 
dangerous,  was  not  to  be  dreaded.  Old  Howard, 
the  Governor,  was  a  friend  of  Maggy's,  and  Maggy 
had  bribed  him  to  obtain  illegal  rights  of  trade. 
He  could  put  the  Governor  into  some  trouble, 
should  he  press  for  an  arrest  on  the  arrival  of 
orders  from  the  Board.  But  he  wasn't  likely  to 
press  for  an  arrest.  He  would  give  a  quiet  hint 
for  them  to  go.  But  even  if  the  arrest  were 
ordered,  he  had  allies  in  the  Bro\en  Heart,  He 
knew  that  Margaret  and  the  others  would  do  any- 
thing to  shield  and  spare  Olivia.  They  thought 
that  she  was  going  to  have  a  child.  Good  Lord, 
they  were  a  comical  trio.  They  thought  that  an 
arrest  would  probably  kill  her.  And  Maggy,  that 
stiff,  shambling,  stuck-up,  conceited  prig,  Maggy 
who  had  been  going  to  fight  a  duel  with  him. 
Swords  and  pistols,  damme  ;  swords  and  pistols, 
damme.  Well.  What  had  it  all  come  to  .''  Why, 
Maggy  would  stop  him  in  the  alleyway,  taking  him 
gently  by  the  arm,  as  one  takes  the  doctor  by  the 
arm,  when  he  comes  out  of  the  sick-room.     *  How 

321 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

is  Olivia,  Stukeley  ?  How  is  she  this  morning  ?  * 
Bated  breath,  good  Lord.  Best  doctor's  manner. 
And  Perrin  running  ashore  for  fruit  and  fresh  fish 
and  eggs.  And  Cammock.  Well,  Cammock  was 
a  bit  of  a  dark  horse  ;  so  he  would  make  much  of 
Cammock  for  some  days.  Besides,  that  little  ruined 
city,  full  of  gold,  might  turn  out  to  be  worth  look- 
ing for.  As  for  Olivia,  she  would  have  to  come  to 
Darien,  whether  she  cried  or  not.  He  rather  liked 
living  at  free  quarters,  as  cock  of  the  walk.  He 
wasn't  going  to  go  ashore  in  Virginia  to  settle 
among  the  colonists.  Besides,  in  Darien,  there 
would  be  a  bit  of  sport,  by  all  accounts.  There 
would  be  shooting  ;  perhaps  a  little  shooting  at 
Spaniards  ;  plunder  to  be  made  ;  good  living  gen- 
erally. The  only  bitter  sediment  in  this  cup  of 
pleasure  was  Mrs.  Inigo.  He  had  been  very  nearly 
caught  with  Mrs.  Inigo.  He  knew  that  he  had 
raised  suspicions,  that  he  would  have  to  walk  warily 
for  some  little  time.  He  wished  that  he  was  married 
to  Mrs.  Inigo.  All  this  talk  of  love,  such  talk  as 
Olivia  loved,  this  talk  of  trust  and  sacrament  and 
the  rest  of  it.  He  was  sick  of  it.  He  thought 
that  men  were  naturally  polygamous.  A  few  fools 
and  perverts.  What  right  had  they  to  dictate  to 
him  }  Mrs.  Inigo  would  be  just  the  sort  of  wife 
for  him.  She  would  understand.  And  she  wouldn't 
make  him  sick  with  talk  about  Beauty.  She  hadn't 
mixed  with  the  gang  of  twisters  Olivia  had  known. 
Maggy  was  the  boy  for  Beauty.  There  was  where 
Olivia  learned  her  beauty  talk.  Twisters.  That 
was  all  that  Maggy's  gang  were.  He  would  like 
to  twist  their  necks.  As  for  the  colonials,  the 
Virginian  women  didn't  please  him.     The  garrison 

222 


IN  PORT 

ladies  were  like  all  the  garrison  ladies  known  to 
him,  silly  little  empty  fools,  without  enough 
imagination  to  be  vicious.  They  could  just  chatter, 
play  cards,  kiss  their  beastly  lap-dogs,  and  wear 
their  English  clothes  to  church,  so  as  to  show  off 
before  the  colonials.  The  colonial  girls  were  not 
like  women  at  all.  They  were  like  young  horses, 
like  young  men.  They  would  dance  and  romp, 
like  colts  in  a  hay-lot.  But  their  idea  of  an  even- 
ing's amusement  was  to  roll  a  man  in  a  corn-crib, 
and  smother  him  with  pillows  or  flour.  The 
colonial  men  bored  him  ;  he  had  always  thought 
ill  of  farmers.  Their  talk  was  all  of  the  tobacco 
crop,  the  duty,  the  burning  of  half  the  leaf,  and 
the  destruction  of  those  plantations  which  were  too 
productive.  They  had  no  wines.  Their  only  drinks 
were  rum  and  new  cider.  They  did  not  play  cards. 
Their  chief  amusement  seemed  to  be  riding  to 
prayer-meetings.  They  would  often  ride  forty 
miles  to  a  prayer-meeting  in  the  woods.  He  rather 
liked  them  for  that.  He  would  have  ridden  a 
hundred  miles  to  avoid  a  Church  service  there, 
under  a  Virginian  parson.  '  They  pay  their  parsons 
in  tobacco,'  he  said  to  himself.  '  They  get  the 
very  sweepings  of  the  Church.  What  souls  they 
must  have,  when  you  can  save  five  thousand  of 
them  for  forty  pounds  a  year.' 

Thus  his  thoughts  ran  inside  his  skull,  under  his 
curly  black  hair,  behind  that  red  face  so  long  the 
adoration  of  shop-girls.  But  after  dinner,  in  the 
little  room  known  as  the  after-hospital,  when, 
stretched  at  ease  in  the  bunk,  he  could  see  Cam- 
mock  sitting  upright  in  the  chair,  through  the 
wavering    tobacco-smoke,   his    thoughts   ran    upon 

223 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

other  matters.     He  thought  of  the  coming  cruise 
to  Darien. 

'  Good  tobacco,  captain  ? ' 

*  Yes,  sir.  But  it's  not  Verinas.  It's  too  strong. 
Too  red.  This  is  some  of  that  Mexican  tobacco. 
It  leaves  that  tang,  like  a  metal.  That's  how  you 
can  tell,  sir.  Just  pufF  out,  sir,  and  roll  your 
tongue  round.     You  taste  what  I  mean  ? ' 

'  Yes.  But  I  bought  it  as  Verinas.  I  paid  four 
shillings  the  Spanish  pound.' 

'  That  gang  of  Davis's  saw  you  coming,  sir.' 

^  Really  ?  Well.  It's  my  turn  to  laugh  next. 
You  tell  them  that,  captain.' 

'  They're  no  friends  of  mine,  sir,'  said  Cammock 
simply. 

'  Aren't  they  ?  I  thought  they  were  particular 
friends  of  yours.     You  sailed  with  them  } ' 

'  I've  sailed  with  a  good  many  as  I'm  no  friends 
with.' 

'  Really.' 

'  1  say  nothing  against  them,'  said  Cammock. 
*  They're  very  good  seamen.  Doing  good  as 
planters,  too,  sir.  They've  quite  a  lot  of  ground 
burnt  off.     I  dare  say  you've  seen  it.' 

'  Yes.  But  I  thought  from  what  they  said  that 
they  were  particular  friends  of  yours.     Eh  } ' 

^  Indeed,  sir.     When  did  you  see  them  ? ' 

^  I  saw  them  yesterday,  Captain  Cammock.' 

'  Indeed,  sir.' 

'  They  said  that  you  and  Captain  Margaret  had 
just  arranged  to  take  about  thirty  of  them,  as  a 
sort  of  company  of  soldiers.  To  have  them  aboard 
here.  Eh .?  Men  of  war.  Eh  }  Pretty  nearly 
the  whole  village  of  them.' 

224 


IN  PORT 

*  Indeed,  sir/ 

*  You  don't  like  your  little  secrets  to  be  known.' 
'  Ah  ?    Oh.    I  forgot  to  ask,  Mr.  Stukeley.    How 

is  Mrs.  Stukeley  ? ' 

'  She's  very  well,  thanks.  You  didn't  think  I'd 
learn  your  little  secret  about  the  men  of  war.' 

'  I  didn't  think  one  way  or  the  other.  You'd 
have  known  some  day  sure  enough.  I  needn't 
disguise  the  fact.  Yes.  We've  just  got  thirty  of 
them,  to  join  at  an  hour's  notice.' 

'  When  we  sail  ?     When  will  that  be  .? ' 

'  We  ought  to  a  gone  to-day.  Only  our  fore- 
topmast's  sprung.  We  have  to  wait  for  a  new 
one.  But  you  know  yourself,  sir.  We  may  have 
to  sail  at  an  hour's  notice,  spar  or  no  spar.' 

'  Thank  you  for  reminding  me.  You're  a  person 
of  great  delicacy,  Cammock.  For  one  of  your 
rank  in  life.' 

'  I  believe  I  am,  sir.     Let  it  go  at  that.' 

'  Can  we  sail  at  an  hour's  notice  ? ' 

'  If  the  Governor,  and  that  old  frigate,  the  royal 
Nonsuch^  don't  object.  I  suppose  we  could  if  we 
had  to,  even  without  a  topmast.  But  if  our  top- 
mast ain't  aboard,  we  couldn't  run  very  fast.  I 
reckon  we  could,  sir.' 

*  Leaving  all  that  tobacco  ashore  ^ ' 

'Yes.  All  except  about  fifty  ton,  which  we've 
got  aboard.  That  tobacco'll  go  home  in  the 
summer  fleet,  if  the  fleet  don't  want  to  cross 
home  light.' 

*  I  hear  you've  got  all  the  pick  of  the  crop.' 

*  You  hear  a  lot  of  things,  sir.  Well-informed 
man,  Ed  Davis.' 

'  He   knows   what's   going   on,'    said    Stukeley. 
Q  225 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  When  you're  shut  up  with  a  couple  of  old  sheep, 
like  your  two  owners,  you  need  a  change/ 

'  So  I  believe,  sir.' 

'  What  d'you  mean  ? ' 

'  I  mean  just  what  I  said.' 

*  Ah,  yes.  A  simple,  rugged  nature.  Eh  }  But 
how  can  we  put  to  sea  with  so  much  cargo  out  of 
her  } ' 

'  We're  not  too  light,  Mr.  Stukeley.  It  ain't  as 
though  we'd  emptied  her.  We've  taken  in  a  lot  of 
fresh  water.  A  lot  of  scantling,  too.  A  lot  of  this 
Virginia  cider.  Then  there's  the  new  cables  we 
bought  from  them  Hog  Islers.  Besides  the  fifty 
odd  ton  of  tobacco.  Still,  I  don't  say  but  what 
she'll  cut  up  a  bit  of  a  dance,  if  she  gets  any 
weather  going  south.' 

*  I  thought  all  her  cargo  was  consigned  to  Vir- 
ginia.' 

'  Did  you,  sir  ."^ ' 

'  Surely.  What's  the  good  of  fencing  ^  Good 
luck,  captain.  I'm  not  an  old  sheep,  like  your 
owners.' 

^Indeed,  sir.' 

'  You're  getting  funny,  captain.  A  wit.  You 
ought  to  have  been  at  the  University.' 

'  That's  where  they  make  gentlemen,  sir.' 

'  Oh,  you  know  that  "^ ' 

*  We'd  one  of  them  come  with  us  in  the  Trinity. 
I  know  all  about  the  universities.' 

^  He  taught  you,  eh  ^  Private  tuition  in  the 
forecastle  } ' 

'Yes.  As  you  might  say.  One  of  the  things 
he  taught  was Well.  You  were  at  one  your- 
self.   I  don't  think  he  could  have  learned  you  much.' 

226 


IN  PORT 

'  Don't  you  ?  Could  he  have  learned  me  (as 
you  call  it)  that  the  reason  youVe  not  discharged 
your  cargo  here  is  that  you're  going  to  try  to  trade 
along  the  Main  ? ' 

'  Ned  Davis  knows  a  lot,  it  seems.' 

*  Don't  be  so  confounded  smart  and  hippy.  See  ^ 
I  know  all  your  plans.  I  know  all  you  can  do,  and 
all  you're  going  to  try  to  do.  And  I  know  exactly 
where  you'll  go  wrong.' 

'  Then  we  shan't  have  the  trouble  of  telling  you.' 
'  What  d'you   say  to  going  up  the  river  after 
Springer's  little  city  ?    Eh  ?    There  might  be  some- 
thing in  that.' 

'  I  met  a  power  of  clever  men  in  my  time,'  said 
Cammock.  '  I  don't  say  men  of  learning  and 
that.  I  mean  clever  fellers.  1  been  up  rivers 
with  'em.' 

*  Looking  for  cities  ? ' 

*  Cities  sometimes.  Sometimes  it  was  gold  mines. 
Then  again  it'd  be  Indians.  Boys  to  spear  fish 
and  that.  Or  perhaps  it  was  only  a  snatching-raid. 
The  clever  fellers  was  never  any  good  at  it.  But, 
hear  'em  talk.     My.' 

*  I  gather  your  intellect  is  trying  to  express  the 
fact  that  you  dislike  me.  I  think  I  trace  so  much. 
I  see  your  brain  floundering  towards  it.' 

'  Huh,'  said  Cammock,  snorting.  '  I  think  I  see 
you  floundering  towards  that  little  city.  Man 
alive.  Good  heart,  alive.  D'ye  know  what  sort 
one  of  them  rivers  is,  to  go  up  ?  You've  neither 
skill  nor  sense  of  it.  You  lie  there  bilged  in  your 
bunk  like  a  barge  at  low  tide,  and  you  come  the 
funny  nigger,  trying  to  get  a  raise.  I'll  tell  you 
what  them  rivers  is  like.     See  here,  now.     Listen 

227 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

to  me.  I'll  perhaps  give  you  some  idea  of  the  land 
you're  bound  for.' 

'  Really  ?    I  don't  know  that  I  want  to  hear  you.' 

'No.  But  I  want  you  to  hear  me,  Mr.  Stuke- 
ley.     I'll  tell  you  where  that  golden  city  is.' 

'  Now  you're  talking  business.' 

'  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  Well.  When  you  come 
in  from  the  Samballoes,  you'll  see  the  land  ahead 
of  you,  like  a  wall  of  green.  Just  like  a  wall. 
Thick.  Dense.  Then  you  come  to  two  rivers, 
about  thirty  yards  across.  They're  the  two  mouths 
of  the  Conception  River.  You  try  to  go  up  one  of 
them  in  your  boat.  First  thing  you  know  is  a 
thundering  big  bar.  You'd  be  surprised  how  ugly 
them  little  bars  get.  Well.  Suppose  you  get 
across.    What's  next  }    D'ye  know  what  a  snag  \sV 

'A  branch  of  alder  or  willow,  fallen  into  the 
river.' 

'  Yes.  Or  a  whole  whacking  big  great  oak,  Mr. 
Stukeley,  fallen  right  across,  and  rotting  there. 
With  its  branches  all  jammed  up  with  drift  and 
drowned  things.  Hornets'  nests  stuck  in  'em. 
Great  grey  paper  bags.  So  then  you  land,  and 
take  out  your  macheat,  and  cut  a  path  around  that 
tree,  and  drag  your  boat  round.  May  take  you  an 
hour  or  more.  Then  into  your  boat  again,  after 
sliding  down  a  mud-bank  with  eighteen  inch  of 
slime  on  top.  Presently  you  come  to  a  lot  more 
trees.  Out  you  get  and  cut  another  road.  Per- 
haps you  go  back  a  half-mile  to  find  a  place  where 
you  can  land.  Oh.  It's  death,  going  up  one  of 
them  brooks.  Then,  there's  shallows  where  you 
wade.  Rapids  where  you  wade  and  haul,  losing 
your   footing    and    getting    soused.     By   and    by 

228 


IN  PORT 

comes  a  cloud-burst  somewhere  in  the  hills  above. 
Or  perhaps  a  jam  of  logs  bursts,  a  kind  of  a  natural 
dam,  a  mile  or  two  above  you.  Then.  Woosh. 
You  see  a  wall  of  water  a  yard  high  coming  at  you. 
If  you're  slippy  on  your  oars  you  get  ashore  from 
that.  Maybe  you  hear  it  coming.  It  makes  a  roar 
like  the  tide.     You  drag  your  boat  ashore.' 

'Aren't  you  rather  laying  it  on  for  my  benefit  ? ' 

'As  for  laying  it  on,  Mr.  Stukeley,  I'll  make  you 
judge  for  yourself  as  soon  as  we  come  on  the  coast. 
I  tell  you  one  thing.  You'll  sing  mighty  small 
when  you  come  to  tackle  such  a  country.  That's 
something  you  won't  have  learned,  where  you 
learned  your   manners.' 

Stukeley  laughed.  'Well.  Go  on  with  your 
yarn,'  he  said.     '  I  like  hearing  of  foreign  parts.' 

'  No,'  said  Cammock.  '  I'm  not  going  on.  But 
there's  your  city.  It's  within  twenty  miles  of  the 
sea,  and  within  ^ve  of  the  eastern  Conception.' 

'  Will  you  come  to  look  for  it  with  me  ^ ' 

'  No,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  '  I  won't.  I  don't 
fancy  your  company.' 

'  I  like  you,  captain.' 

Cammock  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment, 
and  then  lit  his  pipe  at  the  brazier. 

'  What  are  the  women  like  in  Darien  ?  * 

'  You're  a  married  man,  Mr.  Stukeley.' 

'  Thank  you.  I  know  I'm  a  married  man.  I 
asked  you  what  the  women  are  like  ? ' 

'They're  mostly  a  rather  duskish  brown  or 
copper  colour.' 

'  So  I  think  I  know.  Can  a  fellow  have  any  fun 
with  them  ? ' 

*  They're  modest,  merry  creatures.     Very  ki  nd, 
229 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

simple  creatures.  Another  thing.  They're  strong 
as  colts.  You  see,  they  do  most  of  the  work. 
They'll  carry  a  man  like  you.  I  guess  you're  one 
and  a  half  hundredweight.  They'd  carry  you 
across  a  swamp.  And  they're  only  very  small, 
you  know.  As  for  fun,  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean.' 

'  Cammock,  the  chaste  pirate.' 

'  Now  go  easy,  Mr.  Stukeley.  I  can  take  a  lot, 
but  1  don't  take  pirate  of  any  man.' 

'  The  virgin  martyr.' 

'  We  had  one  of  our  men  a  martyr,  Mr.  Stukeley. 
He  tried  to  have  a  bit  of  "  fun,"  as  you  call  it, 
with  one  of  the  Samballoes  women.  Lemuel  Bath 
his  name  was.  They  caught  him,  as  it  happened. 
And  they  done  to  him  what  they  do  to  each  other, 
if  they  try  any  "  fun  "  and  get  caught.  That  was 
ashore  on  the  Main  at  the  back  of  Sasardi  there. 
I  was  ashore  the  next  day,  filling  water  at  the 
'Seniqua.  We  seen  Bath  come  crippling  down 
the  beach,  with  his  head  back,  and  his  hands  tearing 
his  chest  all  bloody.  Tearing  his  chest  into  strips 
with  pain.  Naked,  too.  He  died  that  evening. 
No,  sir.     Don't  you  try  it.' 

'  Thanks.  Niggers  aren't  in  my  line.  I  leave 
them  to  pirates.' 

'That's  you.  It's  time  I  was  on  deck,  Mr. 
Stukeley.  Adios,  senor.  Divertiete.  That's  what 
we  used  to  say  to  the  Spaniards  when  their  ran- 
soms were  paid.'  He  nodded  to  the  head  which 
watched  him  from  the  bunk.  Turning  on  his  heel, 
he  passed  from  the  cabin,  pressing  his  thumb  upon 
his  pipe  to  kill  the  ember  in  the  bowl.  '  I  wonder 
if   there's    many   like    him,'    he   said    to   himself. 

230 


IN  PORT 

*  I  wonder  what  it  is  makes  him  like  that.  I'd 
like  him  in  a  watch.  Oh,  mommer.*  As  he 
muttered  thus,  in  passing  to  the  deck,  Stukeley 
turned  in  his  bunk,  drawing  the  curtain.  '  Hulk- 
ing boor,'  he  said  to  himself.  '  Hulking  old 
savage.  This  is  the  sort  of  company  we  keep 
when  we  come  to  sea.  Crusty  he  gets,  when  you 
bait  him.'  He  thought  of  the  little  golden  city 
and  of  the  little  brown  women,  with  resolve  to  try 
them  both.  *  Good  luck,'  he  said  ;  '  I  hope  we'll 
soon  get  out  of  here,  before  Olivia's  nerves  go  ofF 
again.'  As  he  settled  himself  down  for  his  nap  he 
was  roused  by  a  noise  in  the  sample-room,  where 
Mr.  Harthop  broke  in  a  caskhead  with  a  toma- 
hawk. He  went  to  the  alleyway-door  to  call  down 
the  passage  to  Margaret's  cabin. 

'  Margaret,'    he    cried,    '  can't   you    stop    that 
beastly  noise  for  a  bit  ?     Olivia's  lying  down.' 

'  I  am  sorry,'  said  Margaret,  coming  from  his 

cabin.     '  I    ought     to    have Mr.    Harthop, 

will  you  please  unhead  your  casks  on  deck  ?  The 
noise  upsets  Mrs.  Stukeley.  Apologize  for  me, 
Stukeley.' 

The  noise  ceased,  and  Stukeley  slept  like  an 
infant,  showing  his  strong  white  teeth  in  a  smile. 
Harthop  muttered  and  swore,  wishing  that  a  ship 
with  a  woman  in  her  might  sail  the  rivers  of  hell  ; 
or  that  was  all  she  was  fit  for.  He  reproved  the 
man  who  was  working  with  him  for  suggesting 
the  tomahawk.  The  man  sulked  and  loafed  for 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  and  then  told  a  sympa- 
thetic fo'c's'le  that  you  got  your  head  bit  off  if  that 
pale  Judy  in  the  cabin  heard  you  so  much  as 
'  hem.'     Harthop,  nursing  his  wrath  till  knock-ofF 

231 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

time,  took  it  out  of  the  boy  who  kept  his  cabin 
clean. 

'  Can't  you  find  some  other  place  to  stow  your 
brass-rags,  without  putting  them  under  my  mat- 
tress ? ' 

'  Please,  sir,  they're  not  the  brass-rags.  They're 
the  rags  you  stuff  in  the  leaky  seam,  sir.  In  wet 
weather,  sir.' 

'  My  bed's  no  place  for  them,  you  dirty  young 
hound.  What  have  you  done  with  the  molasses 
that  was  left } ' 

'  You'd  ate  all  your  molasses,  sir ;  from  last 
week.' 

^  There  was  some  left  in  the  tin.  You've  been 
at  it  again.' 

'  No,  sir.     I  swear  I  haven't,  sir.' 

*  How  many  times  have  1  told  you  I  won't  have 
you  swear  }     Eh  .?     Give  me  my  supplejack.' 

'  Oh,  sir,  I  won't  do  it  again.  I  won't  do  it 
again.' 

'There,  my  boy.  Perhaps  that'll  teach  you 
another  time.  Now  go  and  lay  my  supper.  If  you 
don't  stop  howling  I'll  give  you  another  six.' 

The  boy  went  forward  howling,  to  hide  in  the 
darkness  of  the  hold,  where  he  could  cry  by  him- 
self, choking  with  misery  and  shame,  praying  for 
death.  If  he  had  had  a  flint  and  steel  he  would 
have  burnt  the  Broken  Heart  at  her  anchor.  As  he 
had  none,  he  sobbed  himself  to  sleep,  careless  of 
Mr.  Harthop's  supper,  full  of  the  bleeding,  aching 
misery  which  none  save  the  wronged  child  can 
ever  taste  to  the  full.  When  it  was  dark  and  all 
had  gone  to  bed,  he  crept  aft  to  the  wardroom, 
where  the  bread-barge  and  the  case  of  spirits  stood, 

232 


IN  PORT 

just  as  the  two  mates  had  left  them.  He  helped 
himself  to  bread  and  rum  ;  for  misery  had  made 
him  reckless.  Besides,  having  defied  Mr.  Harthop 
he  might  as  well  defy  the  two  mates.  So  he  ate 
and  drank,  looking  at  the  light  on  the  landing- 
stage,  which  made  a  golden  track  to  dance.  It 
trembled  in  yellow  flakes  on  the  water,  a  path  of 
gold,  to  the  blackness  of  the  rudder  eddies  below 
him.  He  was  not  very  sure  if  he  could  swim  so 
far  ;  but  he  did  not  care.  He  was  too  wretched 
to  mind  drowning.  It  was  very  dark  in  the  ward- 
room. It  was  dark  above  him  in  the  cabin. 
Below  him,  the  ship's  shadow  was  dark.  He  was 
sure  that  the  watchmen  would  not  see  him.  They 
never  walked  on  the  poop.  After  a  moment  of 
groping  he  found  the  falls  of  the  relieving- tackle, 
and  unrove  the  raw  hide  till  he  had  an  end  ten 
feet  long.  He  hitched  the  tackle  so  that  the  block 
should  not  creak,  and  paid  out  the  end  through  the 
chase-port.  Then,  as  even  the  most  miserable  of 
us  will,  he  felt  the  misery  of  leaving.  This  ship 
of  wretchedness  had  been  a  home  to  him.  He  re- 
membered the  singing  in  the  dog-watch.  It  was 
awful  to  have  to  go  like  that.  In  his  wretchedness, 
a  tear  or  two  rolled  down  his  cheek,  to  splash  on 
the  port-sill.  A  light  footstep  moved  up  and  down 
above  him.  One  of  the  stern-windows  of  the  cabin 
opened  with  a  little  rattle.  He  heard  Stukeley's 
voice  coming  from  the  state-room  drowsily.  Then 
Mrs.  Stukeley  spoke  from  overhead. 

'  It's  such  a  beautiful  night,  Tom.  Do  come  and 
see  the  stars.  They're  wonderful.  Wonderful. 
Come  and  see  them,  Tom,  dear.' 

'  You'll  catch  your  death  of  cold.' 

233 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Bow-wow-wow.  What  an  old  bear.  I  shan't. 
I've  got  on  my  dressing-gown.' 

^  Thanks.     I  prefer  my  bed.' 

The  listener  in  the  ward-room  smiled  in  spite  of 
his  misery  ;  then  trembled  lest  the  lady  should 
stay  long.  For  suppose  a  watchman  crept  below 
to  see  if  the  mates  had  left  any  rum  behind  them  } 
Suppose  anybody  came — Mr.  Harthop,  Mr.  Ram- 
age  }  He  peered  into  the  'tween-decks,  where  all 
was  dark  and  still,  save  for  the  cat's  eyes  gleaming 
green,  watching  for  a  mouse,  and  the  snores  of  Mr. 
Ramage  in  his  hammock.  Then,  up  above  him, 
moved  by  the  beauty  of  the  night,  the  woman 
began  to  sing,  in  a  voice  of  drowsy  sweetness,  in  a 
little  low  voice  that  made  each  word  a  pearl,  a 
round,  lustrous  pearl,  a  tiny  globe  that  glowed  in 
the  mind,  it  was  so  perfect,  so  ripe,  so  tender.  She 
was  singing  that  old  song  of  Campion's  about  the 
woman  who  had  played  with  love  in  the  hour  of 
her  beauty.  She  was  a  woman  who  had  played, 
and  been  played  with  ;  till  her  beauty  withered  just 
as  she  had  learned  the  worth  of  love,  just  as  life 
had  made  her  worthy  of  love,  at  her  coming  to 
wisdom  : — 

Where  are  all  thy  beauties  now,  all  hearts  enchaining  ? 

Whither  are  thy  flatterers  gone,  with  all  their  feigning? 

All  fled,  and  thou,  alone,  still  here  remaining. 

When  thy  story,  long  time  hence,  shall  be  perused, 
Let  the  blemish  of  thy  rule  be  thus  excused, 
*  None  ever  lived  more  iust,  none  more  abused.' 

The  window  closed  amid  murmured  words  ; 
Stukeley,  moved  by  the  voice,  had  drawn  his  wife 
away.     The   boy  sighed    that   it   was   over ;    then 

234 


IN  PORT 

corked  the  rum-bottle  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
He  would  have  taken  some  bread,  had  he  been  able 
to  carry  it  dry.  He  thought  of  dashing  to  his 
chest  in  the  half-deck  for  an  extra  shirt ;  but  gave 
up  the  plan  as  being  too  risky.  Very  quietly  and 
quickly  he  slid  down  the  rope  into  the  water,  let- 
ting the  tide  take  him,  striking  out  now  and  again, 
towards  the  landing-stage.  He  was  puzzled  by 
the  coming  of  the  ripples  ;  they  hit  him  in  the 
cheek  before  he  judged  that  they  were  near.  He 
got  a  mouthful  once,  and  choked  ;  but  none  heard. 
Very  soon  he  was  clambering  up  the  landing,  gulp- 
ing rum  with  shudders.  Then,  after  wringing  out 
his  jacket,  he  set  out  to  run  along  the  sandy  track 
that  was  the  street.  The  dogs  barked  as  they 
heard  his  feet  beat  ;  but  he  kept  on,  for  some  three 
miles,  till  he  dropped  tired  out  among  the  wood. 
There  he  lay  shivering  in  the  scrub  till  the  dawn, 
when,  seeing  a  plantation  near,  he  sought  shelter  of 
the  planter,  who  hired  him  *  for  his  keep,'  glad  of 
the  chance.  In  the  morning,  when  hue  and  cry 
was  made  for  him,  when  boys  and  men  called  and 
crawled  for  him  among  the  cargo  of  the  ship,  no 
one  suspected  that  Stukeley  was  the  indirect  cause 
of  his  desertion.  The  mates  swore  when  they 
found  their  rum  gone.  The  other  boys  swore 
when  they  had  to  do  the  deserter's  work.  Cam- 
mock  swore  at  the  watchmen  for  not  barring  in  the 
chase-ports,  while  the  watchmen  swore  that  they 
had  barred  them.  Mr.  Harthop  swore  that  if  ever 
he  caught  that  boy  again  he  would  give  him  cherri- 
liccum  pie.     Thus  the  matter  came  to  an  end. 


235 


IX 

A  FAREWELL  DINNER 

The  shame  and  obloquy  I  leave  thine  own ; 

Inherit  those  rewards ;  they're  fitter  for  thee. 

Your  oil's  spent,  and  your  snuff  stinks  :  go  out  basely. 

The  False  One. 

CTANDING  on  the  poop,  looking  seaward,  the 
five  cabin-dwellers  watched  the  summer  fleet 
come  in.  It  came  in  haltingly,  a  scattered  troop  of 
ships,  some  with  spars  gone,  one  or  two,  fir-built, 
streaked  white  where  a  shot  had  struck  ;  all  sea- 
worn.  Cammock,  watching  them,  sent  his  boat 
round  to  the  "  men  of  war  "  to  order  them  aboard 
at  once.  Harthop  had  already  been  settled  ashore, 
in  charge  of  the  tobacco,  under  the  Governor's  eye. 
He  would  make  good  terms  for  the  ship's  owners  ; 
the  merchants  at  home  could  hardly  lose  on  the 
venture. 

'  We're  all  right,  sir,'  said  Cammock  to  Mar- 
garet. 'There's  probably  a  letter.  But  the 
Governor's  your  friend.     You  needn't  worry.' 

*  I  wish  I  could  see  things  as  you  see  them, 
captain,'  said  Margaret.  '  But  I  can't.  How  is 
it  you  always  have  a  plan  }  How  do  you  dis- 
cipline yourself?  How  is  it  you're  always 
ready  } ' 

236 


A   FAREWELL   DINNER 

*  I  dunno,  sir.  I've  only  got  a  few  things  to 
think  of,  and  I  think  'em  out.  P'r'aps  that's  it.  But 
just  step  aft,  sir.  Look  here,  sir.  We're  ready  to 
sail.  The  new  topmast's  aloft.  We're  a  little 
light,  perhaps,  but  nothing  to  hurt.  The  thing  is 
— are  you  going  to  give  him  up  ?  You  got  to 
decide  now.' 

'  I  can't.     We  must  think  of  her  child.' 

*  She  can't  have  a  child  on  the  Isthmus.' 
^There'll  be  time  enough  to  arrange  something 

else  when  we  get  there.     But  she  must  be  spared 
the  shock.' 

*  Very  good,  sir.  I'll  send  the  long-boat  in  for 
all  the  fresh  meat  and  fruit  there  is.' 

*  Oh,  I  know,  captain.  I  know  it's  not  the 
rightest  thing  for  her.     A  voyage  to  sea.' 

*  She'll  get  that  anyway,  sir.  Either  way.  Very 
good,  sir.  I'll  have  all  ready  to  sail.  I've  sent  for 
the  "  men  of  war."  They'll  join  us  either  here,  or 
between  the  Points.  Well,  Mr.  Perrin.  We're  off 
to-night,  sir.' 

'  But  we're  all  dining  with  the  Governor.  You've 
surely  not  forgotten  that,  Charles.' 

'  Look  there,  Edward.  There's  the  summer 
fleet.' 

*  What  if  it  is  .?  We  can't  throw  the  Governor 
over.  We  must  dine  with  the  Governor.  What } 
You  an  Englishman  and  want  not  to  dine  with  a 
lord  .? ' 

'  How  about  our  friend  there  ? ' 

*  No  Englishman  would  arrest  a  guest  at  dinner. 
He  values  his  digestion  and  his  butler's  opinion 
too  much.  There's  no  risk.  Oh,  we  must  go  to 
the  dinner.     I've  got  a  new  American  coat  to  go  in,' 

237 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  No  harm  in  it,  sir/  said  Cammock.  ^  It  might 
divert  the  lady,  poor  thing.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Margaret,  sighing.  '  If  it  won't 
tire  her.'  He  crossed  over  to  the  Stukeleys. 
'  Olivia,'  he  said,  '  Perrin  has  just  reminded  me 
that  we're  dining  to-night  at  the  Governor's.  It 
won't  tire  you  ^ ' 

'  Tire  me  }     Of  course  it  won't.' 

*  You  would  like  to  go  ? ' 

*  We  both  want  to  go.  Tom's  going  to  sing 
"  Twankydillo."  We  may  have  enough  ladies  for 
a  dance.' 

'  We  shall  probably  sail,  directly  we  come  aboard 
to-night.' 

'  Sail,  Charles  .?     Not  for  Darien  V 

'  Yes,  Olivia.     For  Darien.' 

'  Ah-h.'  She  turned  white.  Little  as  she  liked 
Virginia,  she  knew  it,  she  had  proved  it.  The 
unknown  was  before  her  now,  close  at  hand,  shape- 
less yet,  ill-defined,  a  spectral  country.  For  a 
moment  she  stared  blankly  at  Margaret  with  the 
eyes  of  a  frightened  animal.  '  Isn't  it.  Isn't  it 
rather  sudden  ?'  she  asked. 

'  Yes.  Rather  sudden,'  he  answered  in  a  hard 
voice.  '  But,  of  course,  we  may  not  go.  You  see, 
Stukeley.  You  see,  Olivia.  The  summer  fleet 
there  may  have  letters  for  us.  May  have  letters 
for  us.'  He  groped  about  for  an  excuse.  '  My 
owners,'  he  went  on.  ^  My  merchants  may  wish 
me  to  proceed  at  once.  On  the  other  hand,  we 
may  be  told  to  trade  at  Charleston.  Or  trade 
rather  longer  here.  Though  we've  done  well  here. 
It's  possible.  You  understand,  Olivia.  I  told  you 
the  day  we  left  Falmouth.     Our  whole  aim  was  to 

238 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

have  our  work  done  before  the  summer  fleet 
arrived.  To  buy  up  the  tobacco  crop  before  some 
of  it  is  fully  cured.  And,  to  tell  the  truth,  weVe 
hurried  all  we  could.' 

*  Don't  worry,  old  girl,'  said  Stukeley,  drawing 
his  wife  aside.  *  The  sooner  we  go,  the  sooner  we'll 
be  back.' 

'  Oh,  Tom.     Don't  go.     Don't  let  us  go.' 

*  Oh,  come,  come,'  he  said,  biting  his  lips.  Mt'll 
be  all  right.  Maggy.  Come  here,  Maggy.  If 
you  meet  a  home-bound  English  ship  on  our  way 
we  may  ask  to  be  transhipped.' 

*  Oh,'  said  Olivia  ;  *  then  why  not  go  ashore 
now,  Tom  }     Why  go  on  to  Darien  V 

Stukeley  muttered  to  himself  about  his  folly. 
'  Now  we're  going  all  over  it  again,'  he  said  to 
himself.  '  Remember,  I'm  pledged  in  honour, 
Livy,'  he  said. 

*  Then,  Charles,  you'll  release  him  from  his 
pledge,  won't  you  ?  Let  him  come  ashore.  I  want 
to  go  home.' 

Margaret  flushed,  and  then  turned  white.  For 
a  moment  he  wavered  ;  she  saw  him  waver. 

'You  will,  Charles.     Won't  you  }' 

^  Olivia,'  he  answered.  *  I  cannot.  I'd  like  to. 
But  he's  such  a  good  Spanish  scholar.  He's  the 
only  one  of  us  who  really  knows  Spanish.  I'd 
grown  to  count  on  him.     We  all  had.' 

'  But  you  could  get  Spanish  talkers  here,  Charles. 
Couldn't  he.  Captain  Cammock  .''' 

'  No,  ma'am.  You  couldn't  get  gentlemen,  Mrs. 
Stukeley.     And  you  see  the  Dons  is  particular.' 

'  Yet  you  sailed  from  London  without  a  Spanish 
talker.' 

239 


CAFFAIN  MARGARET 

*  Yes/  said  Perrin.  '  But  our  plans  were 
different  then.' 

^  How  were  they  different  then  ?  Fm  going  to 
cross-examine  you  all.' 

'  We  decided  to  try  to  trade  with  some  of  the 
Spanish  cities,  Olivia  ;  having  so  good  an  inter- 
preter.' 

^  I  thought  you  were  going  to    fight  with   the 
Spanish  cities.     That's  what  we  decided  in  council' 
'  My  dear  Livy/   said  Stukeley.     *  You're  like 
a  justice  of  the  peace.' 

'  But  I  want '     She  checked  herself  sharply, 

and  looked  at  the  incoming  ships.  The  men  also 
turned  to  look,  as  she  had  planned  that  they 
should. 

^  That's  a  nice  one,  isn't  it,  Captain  Cammock  } ' 
'  The  Dutch-built  one,  Mrs.  Stukeley  1     No.' 
'  How  do  you  know  she's  Dutch-built } ' 
*How  do  you  know  whether  to    trust  a    man 
when  you  meet  him,  Mrs.  Stukeley  }     You  don't 
rightly    know.      You    have    an    instinct.      I've    an 
instinct  for  ships.     There's  twenty  things  tells  me 
she's    Dutch,   long   before    I've    time  to   examine 
them.' 

*  Yes,'  said  Margaret,  only  too  glad  of  the  diver- 
sion. 'But  I  want  you  to  tell  us  now  what  it  is 
that  makes  you  say  she's  Dutch.  It's  in  her  hull, 
isn't  it  "^     What  is  it  in  her  hull  } ' 

*  The  Dutch,  sir,'  said  Cammock,  '  are  built  for 
the  India  trade,  and  they  give  their  ships  a  rather 
high  sheer,  and  not  quite  so  much  camber  as  an 
English  builder  likes.     Then  they  like  a  very  flat 

floor,  and  a  tuck  that '   He  wandered  on  into  a 

swamp  of  sea  terms,  taking  it  for  granted  that  his 

240 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

hearers  understood  him.  Margaret  and  Perrin 
plied  him  close  with  questions  as  the  ship  loitered 
past  them,  rolling  in  the  light  wind,  her  men  sing- 
ing out  at  her  cluelines.  While  they  talked, 
Stukeley  and  Olivia  went  below  to  the  cabin  ; 
Stukeley  with  the  feeling  that  Olivia  would  now 
make  no  more  fuss  ;  Olivia  with  the  sense  that  all 
was  not  well,  that  something  was  withheld  from 
her. 

*  Tom,'  she  said  suddenly,  as  soon  as  the  cabin- 
door  had  closed,  '  you're  keeping  something  from 
me.     What  is  it  ?     Why  am  I  not  to  know  ? ' 

*  I'm  not  keeping  anything  back.' 

*  Tom,  I  think  you're  being  made  a  tool  of.  I 
think  Charles  has  some  scheme  that  isn't  quite 
right.     Don't  be  dragged  into  it,  Tom.' 

'  Dragged  into  it,  Livy  ? ' 

^You've  a  noble,  trusting  nature,  Tom  ;  and 
I  love  you  for  it.  But.  Oh,  I  feel  sure  Charles 
has  some  deep-laid  scheme,  that  he's  afraid  to  tell 
you  of.  I  don't  think  he  was  telling  the  truth  to 
me  just  now.' 

*  Oh,  nonsense,  Livy.  He  couldn't  tell  a  lie  if 
he  tried.' 

'  No,  Tom,  dear  ;  but  he  was  trying.' 

'When?' 

'  He  was  trying  to  find  a  reason  for  the  ship's 
sailing  to-night.' 

'  But  it  was  the  plan,  Livy.  We  expected  to 
sail  as  soon  as  the  summer  fleet  came.* 

'  Why,  Tom  .?     Tell  me  that.' 

'  There  may  be  letters  ordering  us  to  sail.  My 
dear  girl.  Maggy's  got  a  whole  firm  of  merchants 
to  order  him  as  they  please.  We  had  to  be  ready 
E  241 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

in  case  an  order  came  from  them.     There  may  be 
no  order/ 

'  But  we  weren't  ready,  Tom.  When  the  fleet 
was  signalled  we  were  in  the  midst  of  trading.' 

^Yes.  But  my  dear  child.  If  there's  no  order, 
we  may  trade  again  to-morrow.' 

'  You  think  it's  all  right  then,  Tom  }    Do  you  } ' 

'  Of  course  I  do,  Livy.  You've  got  fine  eyes, 
Livy.     Did  you  know  that } ' 

*^But  why  should  they  alter  their  scheme  of  lighting 
the  Spaniards  }  You  promised  to  help  the  Indians 
against  the  Spaniards.  Now  you're  suddenly  asked 
to  help  Charles's  merchants  to  make  trade  with  the 
Spaniards.  You  never  promised  to  do  that.  And 
I  should  never  have  let  you.  Never.  Never.  Oh, 
Tom,  they've  tricked  us  cruelly.  They  aren't  going 
to  help  the  Indians,  Tom.  They're  going  to  make 
money,  like  common  city-merchants.  And  they 
want  my  noble,  generous  Tom  to  help  them.  Don't 
do  it,  dear.     Don't  do  it.     I  can't  bear  it.' 

'  My  dear  Livy.' 

'  I  can't  have  you  mixed  up  with  merchants.' 

'  Look  here,  old  girl.  Aren't  you  a  little  un- 
reasonable ^  We've  decided  that  we  can  help  the 
Indians  best  by  making  some  sort  of  agreement 
with  the  Spaniards.' 

*You  say  we  have  decided  this.  When  was  it 
decided  .?     Why  wasn't  I  told  .? ' 

'  We  haven't  really  decided.  It  was  suggested 
last  night.     After  you'd  gone  to  bed.' 

'  Why  wasn't  I  told  }     What  was  suggested  } ' 

'  It's  a  fine  idea,  Livy.  Cammock  suggested  our 
going  to  one  of  the  towns  and  proposing  an 
agreement  with|the  Governor.' 

242 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

'  What  sort  of  an  agreement  ? ' 

*  The  Governor  to  trade  with  us,  just  as  if  we 
were  Spanish.  The  English  to  abstain  from  hostili- 
ties, and  the  Indians  to  be  accounted  English 
subjects.  And  they  want  me  to  interview  the 
Governor.* 

'  It's  only  an  excuse  to  make  money,  Tom.  To 
make  money  without  the  self-sacrifice  of  fighting. 
And  what  if  the  Spaniards  refuse  } ' 

'Then  we  should  have  some  just  excuse  for  pro- 
ceeding as  we'd  planned.' 

'Tom,  I  don't  think  they've  been  straight- 
forward with  us.  There's  something  hidden.  I'm 
sure  of  it.' 

'  But  what  can  be  hidden,  Livy  ?  My  darling 
charmer.  Eh  }  Besides,  look  here,  my  beauty- 
spot.  I'm  ambitious.  I  want  to  make  my  Livy 
proud.  See  }  If  I  see  these  Governors,  and  bring 
off  some  arrangement.  You  see  }  It's  a  big  matter, 
Livy.  It's  knighthood.  It  may  be  a  seat  on  the 
Trade  and  Plantations  Board.  It  may  be  all  sorts 
of  things.' 

'Yes,'  she  said.  'Tom,  I  quite  see  that.  I'm 
ambitious  for  you,  too.  There,  dear,  I  know  you've 
set  your  heart  on  it.  Oh,  Tom,  though,  I  hate 
the  thought  of  it  all.  And  I'm  sure  there's  some- 
thing hidden.     I'm  sure  there  is.     I  wish  I  knew.' 

'  Nonsense,'  he  said,  taking  her  in  his  arms. 
'  Where'd  you  like  to  be  kissed.  I'm  going  to  kiss 
your  nose,  because  you've  got  it  turned  up  in  the 
air  to-day.' 

'  I  haven't,  Tom.' 

'  Come  here,'  he  said,  catching  her  as  she  wriggled 
free.     '  None   of    your   wriggles.     Come   and   be 

243 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

kissed.     You're  not  going  to  dress  till  your  nose  is 
kissed.' 

An  hour  later,  they  stood  in  the  Governor's 
house  waiting  for  the  Governor  to  receive  them. 
They  fidgeted  about  the  large,  cool,  rather  bare 
room  ;  now  staring  through  the  window  at  the 
ships,  now  fingering  the  books,  turning  up  the 
pictures  to  the  light.  Stukeley  took  a  pistol  from 
the  wall,  and  examined  the  engraved  silver  of  the 
butt.  Olivia  chatted  with  Perrin  about  the  rambler 
roses  trailing  round  the  window. 

'We  must  take  some  slips  to  Darien,'  said 
Perrin.  'But  I  don't  much  like  this  dark  red 
kind.' 

'  We  have  them  at  home,'  she  answered  quietly. 
'  I  shall  take  home  some  slips  from  Darien  ;  for 
everything  will  grow  with  us.  I  expect  lots  of 
things  would  transplant.' 

'  Yes,  lots,'  he  answered. 

'  Olivia,'  said  Margaret,  '  have  you  seen  this 
Rembrandt  1 ' 

'Why,'  she  said.  'It's  the  Hundred  Guilder 
Print.     It's  like  meeting  an  old  friend.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Margaret,  peering.  '  It's  a  very 
beautiful  state,  too.  What's  the  etching  beyond 
you  there,  Edward  } ' 

'  One  of  Hollar's.' 

'  Ah  yes,'  said  Margaret.  '  It's  interesting  to  put 
a  Hollar  beside  the  real  thing.  No  artist  can  make 
a  ship  wonderful  to  us.  A  ship  is  a  wonderful 
work  of  art  without  him.  Just  look  at  them  there, 
Olivia.' 

'  They're  beautiful,'  she  said,  looking  at  the  ships. 
'  Why.     The  Broken  Hearths  under  sail.' 

244 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

*  Her  topsails  are  on  the  caps.     Ready  for  us  to 

go-' 

*  In  case  we  do  go  ?  * 

'  Yes.  In  case.'  Olivia  looked  at  him  steadily, 
noting  that,  for  all  his  self-control,  he  seemed  un- 
easy at  her  look.  The  situation  was  saved  by  the 
entrance  of  an  orderly,  in  the  white  coat  and  blue 
scarf  of  the  Virginia  troop.     He  saluted. 

'  The  Governor  presents  's  compliments  'n*  '11 
join  you  d'rec'ly.' 

'  Thank  you,'  said  Margaret.  '  I  suppose  the 
mails  have  arrived  ?     Do  you  know  } ' 

^  Yes,  sir,'  said  the  man,  as  he  stood  in  the  door- 
way.    *  In  the  summer  fleet,  sir.' 

'  Thank  you.' 

*  What  have  you  got  there,  Tom  ? '  said  Olivia. 
^  A  little  pretty  pistol,'  he  said. 

*  Nice  silver  chasing,'  said  Perrin. 

'  Spanish,'  said  Margaret.  ^  They  make  those  at 
Toledo.' 

'  Let  me  see,'  said  Olivia. 

'  Yes.  Spanish,'  said  Stukeley.  *  Wheel-lock. 
Loaded.  Priming-cup  lidded.  A  very  nice  little 
gun.     See  the  Spanish  motto  ^ ' 

*  What  does  the  Spanish  mean  ? '  asked  Olivia. 
'  Se  nada^  pero,     I  can't  read  it.' 

'  It  means,  "  I  know  nothing.  But  I  talk  well." 
I  wonder  if  I've  forgotten  my  pistol  shooting. 
Eh  }  I  used  to  be  able  to  nail  the  ace  of  diamonds 
at  a  dozen  yards.  Let's  make  Pilly  back  up  against 
the  wall,  and  do  the  William  Tell  act.' 

*  Tom,  dear.  Don't  play  with  that.  It's  loaded. 
You  might  hurt  somebody.' 

'  Yes.     Put  it  down,  Stukeley,'  said  Margaret. 
245 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  It's  one  of  old  Howard*s  treasures.  Put  it 
down.' 

'  Put  it  down  ? '  said  Stukeley.  '  YouVe  got  a 
nerve  to  tell  me  to  put  it  down.  I  want  this  little 
gun.  I  like  it.  I'm  going  to  bag  it.  If  anybody 
interferes  with  me  at  dinner,  Livy,  I  shall  just 
plug  him.  Pop.  In  between  the  eyes.  You  see 
if  1  don't.'     He  slipped  the  pistol  into  his  pocket. 

Margaret  smiled  to  see  Olivia's  face  of  horror. 

^  Why,'  said  Stukeley.  '  Why,  Livy,  that's  what 
they  do  in  this  country.  What  are  old  what's-his- 
name's  swords  like  ?  Look  here,  for  a  sword. 
Eh  ^     There's  a  temper.     Look  here.     See  ? ' 

'That's  a  fine  piece  of  steel,'  said  Margaret. 
'  Is  it  Milanese  } ' 

'  Milanese  ^  Milanese  ?  Milanese  in  your  eye. 
Are  you  touched  ^  It's  Spanish.  Comes  from  a 
place  called  Toledo,  if  you've  ever  heard  of  it. 
Spanish  motto  like  the  other.  Old  Howard  must 
collect  Spanish  things.' 

'  What  is  the  motto  } '  Olivia  asked. 

'  No  me  saques  sin  razon  :  well.  Do  not  draw  me 
without  reason.  Unless  he  spits  in  your  face,  for 
instance.  No  me  envaines  sin  honor:  Nor  sheathe 
me  till.     Well.     Till  you've  made  sure.' 

*  Made  sure  } ' 

*  Seen  that  the  other  fellow's  juice  is  pink. 
Stand  still,  Maggy,  till  I  see  if  you've  got  red 
blood  in  you.  I  could  prod  you  from  here  just 
under  your  fourth  rib.  Ping.  Eh  .?  This  sword 
just  suits  me.  Look,  Olivia.  Look  how  they've 
inlaid  this  hilt.' 

'  What  beautiful  work,  Tom.  And  what  a  waste. 
To  put  all  that  beautiful  work  on  to  a  sword.' 

246 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER 

'A  sword's  a  knight's  weapon,'  said  Margaret. 
'  How  could  we  defend  Olivia  Stukeley  if  our 
swords  weren't  worthily  made.' 

^  There's  the  question,'  said  Stukeley.  '  Look 
at  old  Pilly  there.  What  book  have  you  got  there, 
Pilly  .?     Read  it  out  to  us.' 

*  It's  a  book  of  sick  man's  meditations,'  said 
Perrin.  *  I  won't  read  it  out.  Look  at  it.  It's 
all  thumbed  to  dog's  ears.' 

'  Howard's,'  said  Margaret.  '  What  an  extra- 
ordinary book  for  him  to  have.' 

*Oh,'  said  Perrin,  'that's  the  secret  of  an 
Englishman's  success.  He's  nothing  better  than 
a  pirate,  grabbing  all  he  can  get.  Oh,  I'm  not 
English,  myself.  But  the  secret  of  his  success  is 
in  this  book  here.  He  makes  his  peace  with  God 
as  he  goes  on.  The  other  people.  I  don't  know 
about  the  Dutch.  They  beat  you  ;  so  they  must 
be  like  you,  only  better.  The  other  people  try  to 
make  their  peace  before  or  after  ;  and  so  they  lose, 
either  way.     But  you  know,  Olivia,  you  are ' 

'  The  Dutch  didn't  beat  us,'  said  Stukeley.  '  We 
beat  them.  So  you're  out  of  it  there,  little  Taffy 
with  the  Leek.' 

'  How  about  the  Medway  }  Look,  Olivia.  Look 
at  Jamestown.  This  is  the  capital  of  our  chief 
colony.  Would  any  other  nation  in  the  world 
produce  a  capital  of  twenty  wooden  houses,  a  fort, 
a  church,  and  a  Governor's  mansion  ?  This  is  the 
mansion.     Look  at  it.' 

*  A  better  mansion  than  youVe  got  at  home,'  said 
Stukeley.     *  What  are  you  talking  of .''' 

*  Suppose  the  Dutch  were  here.  Think  what  a 
city  they'd  have  built.' 

247 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  What  a  hot  head  it  is/  said  Margaret  gently. 
'  1  don't  agree  with  you  a  bit,  Edward.  You're  all 
wrong.    The  Dutch  haven't  done  much  in  the  East.' 

'  At  least,  they've  worked  ;  and  made  the  Indians 
work.' 

'  And  the  English  here.     Have  they  worked  } ' 

*  Not  so  much.' 

^  Isn't  that  an  argument  against  you  '^  It  tells 
just  the  other  way.  Work  is  often  one  of  the 
most  degrading  things  in  the  world.  All  work  that 
gives  no  rapture  of  creation  is  degrading.  That  is 
why  the  merchant  is  poor  company,  and  the  profes- 
sional a  conservative.  The  Dutch  built  Batavia  ; 
but  their  system  has  ruined  the  spice  trade.  The 
Spaniards  built  San  Domingo  ;  but  their  system 
ruined  the  island.  They've  built  Panama  and 
Lima  ;  but  they've  destroyed  both  Costa  Rica  and 
Peru.  A  city  can  only  be  the  growth  of  a 
civilization.  You  can  only  build  a  colonial  city  by 
agreeing  to  ruin  the  colony.  So  here.  There  may 
be  a  time  when  all  the  trees  in  sight  will  have 
sailed  out  to  sea.  This  harbour  may  be  crowded 
with  ships.  Who  knows  ^  This  place  may  be 
another  Athens  some  day.' 

'There's  not  much  Athens  here  now.  The 
colonials  aren't  much  like  Athenians.' 

'  I  think  they're  very  like,  Edward.  They're 
fond  of  liberty.  They  take  a  beautiful  pride  in 
their  bodies.  They  are  attached  to  the  country. 
They're  very  like  Athenians.  The  world  doesn't 
alter  much.* 

'  How  about  Plato  and  Sophocles  } ' 

'  They  were  not  the  world.  They  had  wrought 
themselves  to  something  finer  than  the  world.' 

248 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER 

'  The  Governor's  got  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  letters,* 
said  Stukeley.  ^  There  goes  his  secretary  to 
him; 

'  Yes; 

*Well,  I  pity  the  man  who  tries  it/  Stukeley 
muttered,  thinking  of  an  arrest. 

*  Is  this  a  very  good  harbour  for  ships  ? '  Olivia 
asked. 

*  Yes  ;  very  good,'  said  Margaret.  '  Don't  you 
love  to  imagine  the  river  here  full  of  ships,  the 
biggest  and  most  beautiful  kinds  of  ships  }  And 
then  the  banks  here,  and  yonder,  with  a  city.  A 
city,  built  of  marble.  Marble  cathedrals.  And  a 
great  citadel  on  the  hill  there.' 

'  A  great  naval  power  is  always  on  the  brink  of 
ruin,'  said  Perrin.  '  Athens  was  a  great  naval 
power,  and  had  her  navy  smashed  by  a  power 
without  a  navy.  Carthage  the  same.  Spain  was 
greatest  at  the  eighty-eight.  There's  another  in- 
stance.' 

*  Naval  power  is  a  very  fine  thing,'  said  Margaret. 
'  You're  mixing  up  greatness,  and  the  weakness 
which  comes  of  overweening  pride,  or  the  defect  of 
greatness.' 

'That's  what  you  silly  Celts  are  always  doing,' 
said  Stukeley. 

At  this  moment  the  orderly  reappeared,  salut- 
ing. 

'  Beg  pardon,  sirs,'  he  said,  '  but  which  of  you 
gents  is  Captain  Margaret .'' ' 

'  I  am.' 

*  'Is  lordship's  compliments,  sir ;  'n'  will  you 
step  this  way  } ' 

Margaret  glanced    at  the  faces  of  his  friends. 
249 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Stukeley  sat  down,  nursing  the  sword,  looking  at 
the  doorway  and  at  the  window.  Perrin,  who 
sincerely  hoped  he  was  about  to  see  the  end  of 
Stukeley,  enjoyed  a  mental  vision  of  the  Ephesian 
matron.  His  day-dream  was  of  Olivia  in  black,  in 
a  darkened  London  room,  and  of  himself,  the  com- 
forter, come  to  console  her,  with  platitude  in  low 
tone,  sentiment  speaking  grief's  language.  Olivia 
turned  to  the  spinet.  She  tried  one  or  two  notes 
with  her  finger,  making  little  wry  mouths  at  the 
want  of  tune.  '  Is  there  any  Virginian  music, 
Edward  }  *  she  asked.  '  I  heard  some  negroes  sing- 
ing in  the  tobacco  fields  the  other  day.  It  sounded 
very  sweet.  It  came  home  to  one  strangely.  All 
working  songs  come  home  to  one,  don't  you 
think  ? ' 

*  Yes,'  said  Perrin.  '  They  are  so  simple.  They're 
like  a  simple  person  speaking  passionately.  They 
leave  the  intellect  untouched,  of  course.' 

*  Yes.  But  you  and  Charles  are  always  blaming 
poultry,  shall  wc  say,  for  not  being  golden  eagles. 
Poultry  as  poultry  are  very  good.  Don't  you 
think  so  }  Won't  you  sit  down,  Edward  ^.  This 
is  the  song  the  negroes  sang.  I  think  it's  so 
charming.' 

While  she  touched  the  tune  upon  the  spinet, 
Margaret  stood  in  the  presence  of  Howard,  the 
Governor,  a  heavy-looking,  weary-looking  man  with 
dark  moustaches.  His  voice  was  hard  and  grating, 
an  official  voice.  It  jarred  on  Margaret,  who  ex- 
pected bad  news  from  it. 

^  Sit  down,  Margaret,'  he  said,  picking  up  a  letter. 
'  I  hope  you're  well.' 

*  Thanks.     Yes.     You  wanted  to  see  me  } ' 

250 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

^  Do  you  know  that  1  could  lodge  you  all  in 
prison  ?  * 

'  So  you've  heard,  then  ?  * 

*  Read  this  letter/ 

He  glanced  through  the  letter  of  instructions 
from  the  Board.  It  set  forth  Stukeley's  crime,  the 
details  of  the  escape  from  Salcombe,  the  necessity 
for  the  arrest  of  the  whole  party  ;  it  was  not  a 
pleasant  letter.  No  one  had  ever  before  described 
Margaret  as  an  abettor  of  felons  ;  the  sensation 
was  new  ;  and  oppressive,  like  some  contamina- 
tions. 

'Well,'  said  Howard.  'You  seem  to  take  it 
very  coolly.' 

'  I've  been  preparing  for  this  moment  for  a 
quarter  of  a  year.' 

'  What  is  this  Stukeley  }  He  seems  a  boorish 
kind  of  fellow.' 

'  He's  an  unpleasant  man.     A  bad  man.' 

'  I  should  call  him  a  thorough  scoundrel,  from 
that  letter.' 

'  He's  married  to  a  charming  woman.  A  woman 
I've  known  for  years.  You  can  see  for  yourself 
that  she's  a  lot  too  good  for  him.' 

'  Do  you  wish  him  to  be  arrested  }  You  know 
the  penalty,  of  course  } ' 

*  I  suppose  I  could  plead  ignorance  .? ' 

'  You  .?  Yes.  But  he.  Sus.  per  col.  Eh  ? ' 
'  I  think,  Howard,  he  ought  to  be  cut  off.  But 
his  wife's  going  to  have  a  child.  I  happen  to  know 
her,  as  I  said.  She  believes  in  him.  She  doesn't 
suspect.  I'm  afraid  the  shock  would  kill  both  her 
and  the  child.' 

'  You'd  rather  that  I  didn't  arrest } ' 
251 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  For  her  sake,  yes.  And  for  the  sake  of  the 
merchants  concerned  in  the  venture  with  me/ 

'  Your  tobacco  will  keep  them  from  loss.  They're 
all  right.  Do  you  know  that  your  Darien  scheme 
is  known  in  Spain  } ' 

'  Ah.  Then.  Then  the  Government  will  curry 
favour  with  Spain  by  arresting  us  on  this  pretext, 
and  claiming  to  have  stopped  us  on  her  account } ' 

^  That  is,  of  course,  possible.  It  depends  on 
party  needs  at  the  moment.  I  know  nothing  of 
that.' 

*  It  is  something  you  ought  to  reckon,  Howard.' 
'  Well.     If  I  don't  arrest  you.     You've  put  me 

in  such  an  awkward  position.     I   can't  very  well 
arrest    my  guests.     It  would  bring  me  into   dis- 
favour, and  my  office  into  disrepute.    I  don't  know 
what  to  say.     Are  you  ready  to  sail  ? ' 
'Yes.' 

*  Why  didn't  you  sail  two  or  three  days  ago  } 
As  soon  as  you'd  made  your  voyage.  Why  in  the 
world  did  you  wait  for  the  tobacco  fleet.' 

'  We  were  kept  waiting  for  our  new  topmast. 
We  found  our  forctopmast  sprung.  It  was  only 
this  morning  that  we  finished  setting  up  the  rigging 
on  the  new  spar.' 

'  You  understand,  Margaret,  that  at  this  moment 
you're  Stukeley's  judge.  You've  got  power  of  life 
and  death  over  him.  You  can  turn  it  over  in  your 
mind,  and  then  say,  whether  you  wish  me  to  arrest 
him,  or  not.  You  wish  to  spare  the  girl,  his  wife. 
Looking  at  it  impartially,  I  should  doubt  whether 
you  would  spare  her  by  sparing  him.  The  man's 
a  scoundrel.' 

'  There's  the  child,  remember.' 
252 


A  FAREWELL  DINNER 

^  Yes.  I  was  forgetting  the  child.  Of  course. 
There*s  the  child.' 

*  If  you  arrest  us  all  and  send  us  home,  of  course 
her  people  will  look  after  her  on  arrival.  Is  that  a 
possible  solution  to  you  ? ' 

'  Between  you  and  me,  Margaret,  I  don't  want  to 
arrest  you  all.  If  I  do,  why,  there'll  be  a  scandal 
here.  "  The  Governor's  friends  proved  to  be  escap- 
ing felons."  The  cry  will  be  everywhere.  I  don't 
want  that.  On  the  other  hand,  the  man's  a  scoun- 
drel.    H'm.     It's  a  pretty  problem.' 

*  You  can  arrest  me  in  mistake  for  Stukeley. 
How  would  that  do  } ' 

*  No,'  said  the  Governor,  shaking  his  head ;  *  that 
won't  do.  What  are  your  plans  for  the  lady  in 
case  I  don't  arrest  ? ' 

'  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  leave  her  at  Jamaica 
after  a  month  or  two  in  Darien.' 

'  Perhaps  she'll  be  better  off  there  than  in  Eng- 
land.    Has  she  a  woman  with  her  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

*  And  you  don't,  in  your  heart,  wish  me  to  pro- 
ceed ? ' 

'  No,  Howard  ;  I  want  you  to  spare  her.' 

'  Very  well,  then.  You  must  sail  this  night. 
Sail  directly  you  get  on  board.' 

'  Thank  you,  Howard.  I  will.  You  won't  get 
into  trouble  with  the  Board  over  this  ^ ' 

'  I  shall  say  that  you  crept  away  in  the  night. 
No  singing  at  the  capstan,  remember.  No  cheer- 
ing. If  you're  not  gone  by  dawn  I'll  arrest  the 
whole  pack  of  you.     I  can't  do  more.' 

'  I'm   very This    is    very    kind   of    you, 

Howard.' 

253 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Kind  ?  A  kind  man  has  no  business  in  poli- 
tics.    Fm  shirking  my  duty.' 

'  Yes,*  said  Margaret,  with  a  sigh.  '  And  Fm 
pleading  with  you,  trying  to  make  you  shirk  it.' 

'  Not  a  bit  of  it,'  said  the  Governor.  « There's 
the  gong.  We'll  go  down  to  dinner.  By  the  way, 
there's  a  letter  for  you.  Where  did  I  put  it  ? 
Here  it  is,'  He  handed  a  sealed  packet  to  Mar- 
garet, who  glanced  abstractedly  at  the  seal,  and 
then,  not  recognizing  the  crest,  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
and  followed  his  host  to  the  door.  '  Honour,'  he 
repeated  to  himself.  *  Honour.  My  honour  is  a 
smirched  rag.     A  smirched  rag.' 

The  dining-room  was  a  long,  low,  bare  apart- 
ment. The  whitewashed  walls  were  hung  with 
one  or  two  prints  by  DQrer,  the  'Adam  and  Eve,' 
the  ^  Justice,'  and  '  The  Man  of  Sorrows,'  from  the 
'  Lesser  Passion.'  The  table  was  heaped  with  a 
deal  of  silver,  all  of  it  very  crudely  designed.  The 
dinner  was  mostly  of  fruit  and  vegetables  ;  it  was 
too  hot  for  meat.  The  wine  bottles  lay  outside  the 
window  in  jackets  of  wetted  flannel.  Each  guest 
had  a  palm  fan  at  his  side,  for  use  between  the 
courses. 

The  Governor  sat  at  the  end  of  the  table  with 
the  door  at  his  back.  Olivia  sat  next  to  him,  with 
Margaret  beside  her.  Mrs.  Prinsep  sat  next  to 
Margaret,  with  Stukeley  on  her  right,  then  Perrin, 
then  an  empty  seat  directly  at  the  Governor's  left. 
During  the  dinner  Howard  asked  his  footman  if 
Captain  Lewin  had  arrived.  The  man  told  him, 
no. 

*  Captain  Lewin  is  in  command  of  the  frigate 
there,'   Howard   explained  to  Olivia.       '  I    asked 

354 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

him  to  join  us,  so  that  you  could  hear  the  news. 
By  the  by,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you're  sailing.* 

Olivia  noticed  that  he,  too,  looked  at  her  with 
something  of  the  shrewd,  hard,  medical  gaze  with 
which  Perrin  and  Cammock  sometimes  looked  at 
her.  She  resented  the  look  as  an  impertinence, 
half  wondering  if  there  was  something  strange 
about  her  face — some  sudden  growth  of  eyelid  or 
droop  of  hair. 

*  Yes,'  she  said.  ■  *  I'm  sorry  we're  going,  too,  for 
several  reasons.  But  I  hope  we  shall  meet  again 
in  England.  You  must  come  and  see  us  when 
we're  settled  there.' 

'  That  will  be  delightful.  In  what  part  do  you 
think  of  settling  } ' 

'  In  Devon.     Near  a  place  called  Flaxley.' 

'  Oh  yes.  Indeed.  Flaxley.  That's  near  the 
sea.  I  know  Flaxley,  Mrs.  Stukeley.  There's  a 
beautiful  old  house  there.  I  once  stayed  a  night 
there.     What  was  the  fellow's  name,  now  ? ' 

'  Then  you  know  my  uncle.  Do  you  }  Nestor 
Pile.' 

*  Pile.  Yes.  Pile.  Of  course.  So  he's  your 
uncle,  Mrs.  Stukeley }  What  a  fine  old  man 
he  is.* 

*  Yes,*  she  said,  with  quiet  indifference.  '  He  is 
very  much  loved.*  She  would  have  given  much  to 
be  back  at  Flaxley,  sitting  in  the  great  hall  there. 
A  Vandyck  hung  in  the  hall,  the  portrait  of  Sir 
Nicolas  Pile,  her  great-uncle,  once  the  king*s 
standard-bearer,  who  had  been  killed  in  the  fight 
at  Naseby.  He  looked  down  upon  the  hall  in 
melancholy  honour,  a  noble  guardian,  full  of  grave 
pride,  helpful  to  those  who  sat  there.     Howard's 

255 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

words  gave  her  a  longing  to  see  that  austere,  sweet, 
thoughtful  face  looking  down  upon  her,  a  longing 
all  the  more  keen  for  the  knowledge  that  perhaps 
she  would  never  again  see  him,  now  that  her  uncle 
had  been  so  horrid  to  Tom.  The  pang  of  home- 
sickness went  shrewdly  to  her  heart ;  but  she  sipped 
her  wine,  her  face  unchanged,  her  smile  ready. 

'  What  brought  you  to  Flaxley,  I  wonder  '^ '  she 
added.     *  I  wonder  if  I  was  there  then.* 

^  It  was  seven  or  eight  years  ago,'  said  Howard. 
*  I  had  to  go  there  about  some  Roman  coins.  I 
collect  antiques,  you  know.  Rather  a  dull  subject 
for  you.  Your  uncle  had  written  a  little  pamphlet 
on  the  coins  dug  up  at  Hurst's  Castle,  that  old 
Roman  camp  in  Somerset.' 

'Yes.  He  used  to  collect  coins  then.  He'd  a 
few  very  rare  ones.  Were  you  there  in  the  sum- 
mer ^     Did  you  see  the  rose-garden  ^ ' 

'  On  a  slope,  somewhere  at  the  back,  rather  ex- 
posed } ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  I've  a  dim  recollection  of  it.  I  was  only  there 
one  night.     You  weren't  there  then  ? ' 

*  My  brothers  were  alive  then.  I  expect  I  was 
with  them.' 

'  Is  that  old  gate-keeper  of  yours  alive  still }  An 
oldish  woman.     Rather  a  character.' 

'  Old  Maggie }  Oh,  do  you  remember  old 
Maggie  }  Poor  old  Maggie.  She's  dead  now. 
There  was  a  shipwreck  on  the  rocks  beyond  Flaxley, 
and  she  rowed  out  to  the  wreck  with  her  idiot  son. 
She  was  such  a 'fine  old  woman.  None  of  the  men 
would  go  out ;  so  she  said  she  would  go.  She 
rowed  and  rowed.     There's  a  very  strong  current 

256 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

there,  too.  When  she  got  to  the  wreck  her  boat 
was  smashed  against  the  side,  so  she  had  to  stay 
there  for  nearly  a  day,  I  think,  and  she  died  soon 
afterwards  from  the  exposure.' 

'  Indeed.  She  impressed  me.  A  fierce  old  Roman.' 
Perrin  looked  up  to  remark  that  the  courage  of  a 
woman  was  as  it  were  complementary  to  the  courage 
of  man.  That  women  did  things  which  men  could 
not  do  ;  and  that  their  courage  was  on  the  whole 
of  a  finer  quality.  Mrs.  Prinsep,  who  may  perhaps 
have  thought  that  the  compliment  to  her  sex  was 
designed  subtly  to  please  her,  seemed  to  bridle. 

*  1  think  women  would  be  proud  to  hear  that,' 
she  said  contemptuously.  She  disliked  Perrin  ;  all 
common  natures  did. 

'  Yes,'  said  Margaret.  *  A  woman's  courage 
comes  from  a  quality  of  soul.  A  man's  comes  more 
from  a  faculty  of  body.  You  can't  think  of  the 
two  without  feeling  that  in  the  woman  you  have 
something  far  finer.' 

*  They  squeal  if  they  see  a  mouse,'  said  Stukeley. 
^  Yes  ?     If  you  will  name  the  highest  flight  of 

man's  courage,  I  will  prove  to  you  that  at  that 
point  woman's  courage  begins.' 

'A  man's  courage  is  often  indifference,'  said 
Perrin.  *  When  I  was  nearly  drowned  once,  I 
remember  thinking,  "  I'm  going  to  die.  Why  am 
I  not  frightened  } "  I  wasn't  frightened.  I  was 
only  tired  of  swimming  and  swimming,  with  the 
water  against  me.' 

*  You  skedaddled  from  that  dog  the  other  day,' 
said  Stukeley. 

'  What  dog  was  that,  Mr.  Stukeley  } '  Mrs.  Prin- 
sep asked. 

s  257 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Oh,'  said  Stukeley,  with  a  chuckle.  '  A  dog 
that  flounced  out  at  him  from  one  of  the  houses 
here.  Good  luck.  To  see  old  Pilly  run.  Did  he 
get  you,  Pilly,  or  did  you  get  up  the  tree  in  time  ? ' 

*  I  was  in  time,*  said  Perrin,  flushing,  looking 
very  uncomfortable. 

*  Are  you  very  much  afraid  of  dogs,  Mr.  Perrin  V 
Mrs.  Prinsep  asked. 

'  Yes,'  he  answered  rudely.     '  So  arc  you.' 

At  this  moment  Captain  Lewin  entered,  so  that 
the  discussion  came  to  an  end  before  it  had  well 
begun,  like  most  discussions  of  the  kind. 

Captain  Lewin  was  a  tall,  grey,  upright  man, 
with  a  sharp,  dictatorial  manner  that  was  somehow 
not  authoritative,  and  therefore  not  offensive.  He 
entered  the  room  with  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
snapping  quickly  from  the  nervous  strain  of  being 
late.  Howard  greeted  him  and  introduced  him. 
He  sat  down  nervously  on  his  host's  left,  looked 
round  the  room  with  the  quick  apprehension  of  an 
animal,  much  as  he  would  have  looked  aloft  on 
coming  on  deck,  and  began  to  apologize  for  his 
lateness. 

'  I  dined  before  I  left  the  ship,'  he  said.  *  That 
rascal,  my  purser,  kept  me.  Very  good  claret, 
your  Excellency.  Who's  the  man  next  but  one 
on  my  left .?     I  seem  to  know  his  face.' 

*  Stukeley.  Thomas  Stukeley,  husband  of  the 
lady  here,'  the  Governor  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

'  I  seem  to  have  seen  him  somewhere.     Wasn't 
he  in  the  rising  in  Beverley's  time  ? ' 
'  No,  captain.' 

*  Reminds  me  of  that  beauty  who  led  us  such 
a  dance  up  the  Delaware.' 

258 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

'  Oh,  George  Bond  ? ' 

*  Yes.  He  was  a  beauty.  I  wonder  what's  be- 
come of  George  Bond  } ' 

*  Yes.     He  kept  us  all  alive  here.' 

'You  have  just  come  from  England.'*'  Olivia 
asked. 

'  Yes,'  said  the  captain.  '  We  sailed  at  the  end 
of  July.  Your  Excellency,  I  wouldn't  go  down 
the  river  with  such  another  convoy.  Not  if  the 
King  knighted  me.' 

Olivia  was  not  quite  sure  of  the  technical  terms, 
so  she  answered  nothing,  but  smiled  a  smile  of  in- 
terested sympathy.  She  remembered  suddenly  that 
perhaps  he  had  brought  mails.    She  asked  him. 

'  Mails  ?  Yes,  madam.  Yes.  Yes.  Yes.  Oh 
I've  brought  the  mails.  They're  in  his  Excellency's 
hands.' 

'  None  for  you,  Mrs.  Stukeley,  I'm  afraid,'  said 
Howard.     '  Captain  Margaret  had  one.' 

'  Captain  Margaret  ? '  said  Lewin  quickly.  *  Do 
you  know  a  Captain  Margaret  here  ? ' 

Stukeley  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  seemed  to 
fumble  in  his  pocket.  Margaret  looked  up  quickly 
from  the  cracking  of  a  nut. 

*  I  am  he,'  he  said  quietly. 

*  You  are  he,  are  you  ^  I  missed  your  name  just 
now,'  said  Lewin,  putting  his  hand  within  his  coat. 

Perrin  pushed  back  his  chair  so  that  his  body 
covered  Lewin  from  Stukeley. 

'Ah,'  continued  Lewin,  in  his  hard  voice  with 
its  ring  of  jocularity,  '  I've  a  letter  for  you.  I  was 
to  deliver  it  into  your  hands.  You've  got  friends 
at  Court,  I  think,  sir.  It  came  to  me  through  the 
Secretary.' 

259 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Margaret  kept  a  steady  face,  not  daring  to  glance 
at  Stukeley  ;  for  a  wink,  to  a  blind  horse,  may  be 
as  disastrous  as  a  blow.  His  first  thought  was, 
'  here  it  ends '  ;  his  second  thought  told  him  that 
Perrin  was  giving  the  show  away,  by  pushing  back 
his  chair  ;  his  third  thought  took  in  the  possibilities 
of  the  pistol.  He  filled  his  wineglass  composedly, 
so  that  he  might  have  a  missile  handy,  then  poured 
a  little  claret  into  Olivia's  glass. 

*  Friends  at  Court,  Captain  Lewin  ^ '  he  answered. 
'  No.  I  don't  think  so.  Let  me  see  this  mys- 
terious letter.'  A  sudden  impulse  urged  him  to 
keep  Olivia's  eyes  from  her  husband's  face. 
'  Howard,'  he  added,  '  you  never  showed  Mrs. 
Stukeley  those  experiments  of  yours  on  the  maize- 
ear.  Aren't  those  some  of  the  maize-ears  just 
behind  you  ? ' 

'  Ah  yes,  Mrs.  Stukeley,'  said  Howard,  reaching 
behind  him  to  the  jar.  *  Let  me  explain  them 
to  you.' 

Lewin  selected  a  sealed  packet  from  his  pocket- 
book  and  handed  it  across  the  table.  Olivia, 
reaching  out  her  hand  to  pass  the  letter  to  Mar- 
garet, saw  the  superscription. 

'  Why,'  she  cried, '  it's  from  Uncle  Nestor.  How 
strange.     We  were  just  now  talking  of  him.' 

'  So  is  this  Sir  Nestor's  hand  ? '  said  Margaret, 
putting  the  letter  to  one  side.  He  asked  because 
the  letter  in  his  pocket  was  addressed  in  the  same 
hand. 

^  Yes,'  said  Olivia,  looking  down  at  it.  '  Aren't 
you  going  to  read  it  } ' 

*  Read  it,'  said  Stukeley  in  a  strange  voice. 
Howard  laid  down  his  maize-cobs.    The  letter  lay 

a6o 


A  FAREWELL  DIN:NER 

at  Margaret's  side  ;  everybody  looked  at  it.  Mrs. 
Prinsep,  in  her  shrewd  Scotch  way,  glanced  at  her 
neighbours,  and  saw  that  there  was  something 
wrong.  *  There  is  something  wrong  somewhere,' 
she  said  to  herself.  Olivia,  looking  at  Pcrrin  and 
her  husband,  wondered  if  the  heat  had  been  too 
much  for  them.  Their  faces  were  so  very  curious. 
It  struck  her  that  the  talk  had  gone  to  pieces.  The 
host,  waiting  for  her  head  to  turn,  so  that  he  might 
expound  his  new  science  to  her,  held  his  peace. 

*  Everybody's  waiting  for  you,  Charles,'  she 
added. 

^  Yes,'  said  Mrs.  Prinsep,  guessing  that  Mar- 
garet disliked  Olivia's  prompting.  '  Captain  Mar- 
garet will  tell  us  all  the  news.' 

Captain  Margaret  asked  Mrs.  Prinsep  if  he 
might  hand  her  a  sapadillo. 

*  I'm  anxious  to  hear  the  news,'  she  answered. 
^  No,  thank  you.' 

*  Oh,'  said  Margaret  lightly,  as  he  put  the  letter 
in  his  pocket,  *  1  won't  read  the  letter  during 
dinner.  I've  been  meaning  to  ask  you,  Mrs.  Prin- 
sep, how  you  keep  domestic  servants  here,  with 
such  a  scarcity  of  white  women.' 

'  I'd  rather  hear  what  the  letter  says,'  she 
answered,  ^  than  talk  about  servants.  We  get  so 
little  news  here  from  England.' 

'  I  don't  understand  the  craving  for  news,'  said 
Perrin.     *  One  carries  the  world  in  one's  head.' 

^  You  must  want  a  big  head  to  do  that,'  said 
Mrs.  Prinsep. 

*  It  doesn't  matter  what  size  it  is,  so  long  as  it's 
empty.  Why  read  letters  and  gazettes  when  one 
can  read  imaginative  work  ? ' 

261 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Mrs.  Prinsep  remarked  with  bitterness  that  she 
knew  not  what  imaginative  work  meant,  unless  it 
was  a  kind  of  thing  which  she  disliked  very  much. 
She  half  rose,  catching  Olivia's  eye.  The  two 
ladies  left  the  room — Mrs.  Prinsep  to  abuse  Perrin 
and  to  apply  crudely  an  examination  ;  Olivia  to 
suffer  from  home-sickness,  thinking  of  her  uncle's 
letter.  Mrs.  Prinsep  could  draw  little  from  her  ; 
for  Mrs.  Prinsep,  while  suspecting  something 
wrong,  naturally  suspected  a  woman  of  finer  beauty 
than  her  own  of  being  a  party  to  it.  Her  theory 
was  that  Olivia  had  run  away  from  her  home,  and 
that,  being  beautiful,  she  was  possibly  not  correctly 
married.  She  liked  Stukeley ;  but  she  had  her 
duty  to  herself  to  consider.  She  put  Olivia 
through  a  conventional  catechism,  in  the  course  of 
which  she  asked  for  particulars  of  the  wedding. 
Olivia,  seeing  her  drift,  replied  coldly,  in  mono- 
syllables. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  dining-room,  over  the  wine, 
Stukeley  badgered  Margaret  to  read  the  letter. 

'  Read  it,'  he  kept  saying.  *  Read  it.  Let's 
hear  what's  in  it.' 

Howard  wondered  at  his  tone  ;  but  as  he  knew 
something  of  Stukeley's  affairs,  he  drew  Lewin  out 
of  the  room,  so  that  the  voyagers  might  read  the 
letter  together  undisturbed  When  he  had  gone, 
Margaret  opened  the  packet  brought  by  Lewin. 
Stukeley  picked  up  his  wine-glass  and  crossed  over 
towards  Margaret,  so  that  he,  too,  might  read. 

'  What  do  you  want,  Stukeley  ^,  '  Margaret  asked 
him. 

'  I  want  to  read  that  letter,  of  course.  It's  about 
me.' 

262 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

*  Do  you  generally  read  the  letters  of  others  ? ' 

'  I'm  going  to  read  this/ 

'  Are  you  ?  '  Margaret  looked  at  him  coolly, 
finished  his  letter,  and  started  to  read  the  other. 
As  he  had  expected,  the  letters  were  alike.  One 
had  been  brought  by  a  merchantman,  the  other  by 
the  man-of-war.  The  letter  was  that  saddest  of  all 
letters,  the  letter  of  the  old  man  who  asks  humbly, 
knowing  the  selfishness  of  youth.  That  the  old 
man  wrote  without  hope  seemed  evident  to  Mar- 
garet from  the  appeal  he  made  to  chivalrous 
sentiment.  '  I  am  confident  to  write  to  you,* 
ran  the  un-confident  words,  '  though  we  are  little 
acquainted.  I  had  the  honour  to  serve  with  your 
father  more  than  forty  years  ago.'  Then  there 
came  a  request  that  Captain  Margaret  would  cause 
Stukeley  to  be  arrested  and  brought  home  to  trial, 
so  that  Olivia  might  again  be  under  his  care. 
There  was  also  a  moving  prayer  that  he,  the  son  of 
that  old  brother-in-arms  who  had  ridden  with  the 
writer  at  Newbury  forty  odd  years  before,  would 
let  Olivia  know  what  her  husband  had  done.  She 
was  ignorant  of  her  husband's  nature  ;  but  in  Eng- 
land it  was  said  that  she  was  not  so  ignorant.  In 
England  her  honour  seemed  smirched,  for  there 
were  some  who  saw  in  her  flight  the  ruse  of  a 
criminal  and  his  doxy.  It  was  right  that  she  should 
know  this,  and  very  right  that  her  husband  should 
stand  his  trial,  so  that  their  honour  might  be 
cleared.  The  letter  was  bitter  reading  to  Margaret. 
It  made  him  feel  that  he  had  stained  Olivia's  honour 
in  staining  his  own,  and  all  for  the  sake  of  a  ruffian 
incapable  of  feeling  the  sacrifice.  If  the  letter  had 
come  before  his  interview  with  Howard  he  would 

263 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

have  pleaded  diiFerently,  child  or  no  child.  He 
looked  grave,  helped  himself  to  more  wine,  and 
handed  a  letter  to  Perrin. 

'  What's  the  old  boy  say  ? '  said  Stukeley. 

'  That  is  surely  not  your  business,'  Margaret 
answered. 

'  I'll  make  it  my  business.  It  concerns  me. 
Isn't  it  all  about  me  }     Eh  ? ' 

^No.' 

'  Isn't  it }  I'll  soon  see.  Now  then,  Pilly.  Hand 
over.' 

'  Leave  Edward  alone,'  said  Margaret.  '  The 
letter's  a  private  letter  to  myself.  I  prefer  that  you 
shall  not  read  it,  Stukeley.' 

'  Shall  not.  Eh  .?  Blood.  Eh  .?  Shall  not.  Give 
it  to  me,  Pilly.' 

'  Sit  down,  Stukeley,'  said  Margaret. 

'  Don't  you  touch  me,  Stukeley,'  said  Perrin. 

*  Give  me  that  letter.'  He  was  within  snatching 
distance  ;  but  Perrin  twisted  aside,  so  that  he 
missed  his  mark.  He  sprawled  across  Perrin  try- 
ing to  reach  his  outstretched  hand. 

*  Get  out,  you  beast,'  said  Perrin,  thrusting  with 
his  elbow. 

'  Temper,  eh  } '  said  Stukeley.  He  feinted 
quickly  for  Perrin's  nose  ;  Perrin's  outstretched 
hand  flew  back  to  guard  ;  the  letter  was  seized 
with  a  whoop  of  triumph.  Stukeley  glanced  con- 
temptuously at  Perrin,  and  began  to  read  the  letter, 
as  Margaret  quietly  walked  round  the  table  to  him. 

Stukeley  saw  him  coming,  and  kicked  Mrs. 
Prinsep's  chair  across  his  shins,  checking  his  pro- 
gress for  an  instant.  As  he  kicked  the  chair,  Perrin 
dashed   at   him,   to    snatch    the    paper.     Stukeley 

264 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

flung  him  aside  heavily,  laughing  at  the  fun  of  the 
tussle. 

*You   see  what  you  get,   little  Pilly,*   he   said. 

*  You  see  what  you  get.     Eh  } ' 

Margaret  set  aside  the  chair  and  advanced  upon 
him.     *  Now,  Stukeley,'  he  said,  ^  that  letter.* 

Stukeley  backed  a  pace  to  avoid  him.  Perrin,  re- 
covering, felt  blindly  along  the  table  for  a  knife.  At 
this  moment,  the  door  opened,  and  Olivia  entered. 

'  I've  come  to  ask  if  I  might  read  the  letter. 
Uncle  Nestor's  letter,  Charles,'  she  said. 

Perrin,  in  a  voice  which  shook  with  the  hysteria 
of  wrath,  told  her  that  she  had  better  ask  her 
husband. 

^  There  it  is,'  said  Margaret  quietly,  indicating 
Stukeley. 

Olivia  glanced  at  the  three  men  with  surprise, 
even  anxiety.  Stukeley,  who  had  not  yet  read 
the  letter,  looked  to  Margaret  for  a  hint  that  the 
letter  might  be  shown. 

'  There  it  is,'  Margaret  repeated. 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  you  three  men  V  Olivia 
asked.     '  You  were  fighting.' 

*  Pilly  gets  so  excited,'  Stukeley  said. 

*  What  were  you  doing,  Tom  } ' 

*  Reading  the  letter,'  Perrin  said. 
'  What  is  in  the  letter  .? ' 

'  There  it  is,'  said  Margaret. 

Olivia  walked  softly  to  her  husband.  '  May  I  see 
the  letter  } '  she  said,  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  *  I  may 
read  the  letter,  Charles  ,? ' 

*  Yes.     I  wish  you  to  read  it.' 

'  There  it  is,'  said  Stukeley,  handing  it  to  her. 

*  What  did  you  two  asses  make  such  a  fuss  for  } ' 

265 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

He  sat  down,  helped  himself  to  wine,  and  lighted 
a  roll  of  tobacco-leafj  a  kind  of  primitive  cigar. 
Between  the  puiFs,  he  glanced  at  the  two  men,  and 
at  Olivia's  face.  Something  in  Olivia's  face  at- 
tracted him  :  the  eyes  seemed  to  burn  ;  the  eyes 
seemed  to  be  her  intelligence,  now  starting  out- 
ward. He  looked  at  Margaret,  wondering  if  he 
had  done  rightly  to  give  the  letter  ;  but  Margaret 
stood  there,  grave,  courteous,  self-controlled,  his 
face  a  mask.  Olivia  read  the  letter,  turned  the 
sheet  to  see  if  a  postscript  had  been  added,  then 
read  it  through  a  second  time,  turning  very  white. 

*  I  don't  understand,'  she  said  slowly.  '  Have 
you  read  this,  Tom  ? ' 

'  No,  Livy.     Let's  see  it.' 

*  I  suppose  I  may  show  it  to  Tom,  Charles  } ' 
'  Yes,  Olivia.' 

*  You've  read  the  letter,  Charles  } ' 
'  Yes,  Olivia.' 

*Well.  I  don't  understand.  What  is  Uncle 
Nestor  thinking,  Tom  1 ' 

Stukeley  read  the  letter,  with  a  desire  to  have 
Margaret's  throat  in  his  hands,  squeezing  the  life 
out  of  him.  He  looked  savagely  at  Margaret. 
^  You  swine,  to  let  me  in  for  this,'  he  thought. 
Then  he  became  conscious  that  Olivia  was  closely 
watching  him. 

'  Strange,'  he  said,  puckering  his  brows.  He 
took  a  gulp  of  wine  and  looked  at  Margaret. 
'  Hadn't  we  better  go  aboard.^'  he  added.  *  It's  not 
a  thing  we  can  discuss  here.  Old  Howard  might 
come  in.' 

'  But  wc  can't  go  aboard,  Tom.  The  ship  is 
sailing.' 

266 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

'  All  our  things  are  on  board/ 

'Yes.  But  we  must  get  them.  We  must  go 
home.  You  see  that,  Tom,  don't  you  }  We  must 
go  home  to  clear  our  names.' 

'  We  can't  go,  Livy,  for  the  reason  I  told  you 
before.' 

*  They're  saying  these  things  about  us,  though.' 

'  Who  is  }  Some  tea-drinking  old  maids  who've 
got  at  your  uncle  Nestor.  He  doesn't  like  me, 
as  you  know,  so  naturally  he  believes  them.' 

'  But,  Tom,  what  could  have  started  the  old 
maids,  as  you  call  them  ? ' 

'  Our  hurried  leaving,  of  course.     What  else  i ' 

'Ah,'  she  said,  turning  very  pale,  as  though  a 
bitter  thought  had  come  to  her.  '  Charles,  Charles. 
Oh,  why  did  not  Uncle  Nestor  write  to  me,  instead 
of  you  }     He  need  not  have  told  you  the  scandal.' 

Margaret,  who  had  gone  to  the  window  with 
Perrin,  to  look  out  over  the  darkened  harbour, 
while  the  husband  and  wife  talked  together,  now 
turned  gravely  towards  her,  too  sad  to  answer. 

*  I  didn't  mean  that,  Charles.'  She  looked  from 
one  face  to  another,  searching  for  a  key  to  the  puzzle, 
for  a  way  back  to  the  peace  of  ten  minutes  ago. 

'  What  were  you  doing,  Charles,  when  I  came  in 
just  now  V 

*  We  were  struggling  for  the  letter,  Olivia.' 
'  You  had  snatched  the  letter,  Tom  } ' 

'  From  me,'  said  Perrin. 

*  I  did  not  wish  your  husband  to  read  it,  Olivia,' 
Margaret  added. 

*  He  told  me  it  concerned  me,'  said  Stukeley, 
'and  naturally,  in  a  playful  way,  I  snatched  it.  In 
a  playful  way.' 

267 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  1  told  you  no  such  thing,'  said  Margaret. 

'And  yet,  Charles,  you  say  you  did  not  wish 
Tom,  my  husband,  to  read  it  ?  * 

'  1  did  not  wish  it/ 

^  And  you  could  hand  it  on  to  Edward  ? ' 

*Yes/ 

'But  I  don't  understand.  And  you  wished  me 
to  read  it  ? ' 

'  Yes,  Olivia.    I  wished  you  to  read  it.* 

'  We  can't  discuss  it  here,  Livy,'  Stukeley  said. 
'  Old  Howard  may  come  in.     Let's  go  on  board.' 

'  Tom,  we  can't  go  on  board.  I  can't  enter  that 
ship  again.  They've  been  calling  us  that  for  three 
months.     Do  .think  what  it  means,  dear.' 

'  Only  cackle,'  he  answered  sullenly,  '  I'm  not 
going  to  alter  my  plans  for  a  little  old  wives' 
cackle.' 

'  You  think  it's  only  that,  Tom  ? ' 

'  Good  luck.     Yes.' 

'  But  let's  go  home  and  put  an  end  to  it.  If  we 
don't  it  may  grow.     It  may ' 

The  door  opened.  Howard  entered.  He 
looked  round  them  with  his  air  of  weary  boredom. 

'  Captain  Margaret,'  he  said  coldly,  '  your  boat  is 
waiting.  Your  captain  is  anxious  not  to  lose  the 
tide.' 

'  Well,  we'll  go  on  board  then.  Edward,  fetch 
Olivia's  wraps.' 

'  No,'  Olivia  said.  '  No.  Not  that.  We're  not 
going,  Charles.  We're  going  home.  Oh,  this  letter 
is  like  a  fire.' 

'  Come,  Edward,'  said  Margaret,  *  we'll  be 
getting  our  cloaks.' 

'  I'll  get  Olivia's  things,'  Stukeley  said. 
268 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

*  Tom,*  she  cried,  *  you  aren*t  going  to  run  away 
like  this,  letting  them  think  you  guilty  ?  You  can't, 
Tom.  Go  back.  No.  No.  I  can^tletyou.  Dear, 
we  must  face  this.     We  must  go  home  and  face  this.' 

Margaret  was  at  the  door  again,  hooking  the 
heavy  silver  cloak-clasp  at  his  throat.  He  looked 
at  her  pitifully,  saying  nothing.  He  wished  that  he 
could  help  her,  for  the  sake  of  her  little  one  ;  but 
the  letter  had  struck  a  jangle  in  him,  and  Stukeley 
had  made  him  lose  his  temper.  He  thought  that 
he  had  gone  too  far  now,  that  he  had  shown  Stuke- 
ley to  be  guilty.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to 
speak.  He  was  worn  out  with  the  long  anxiety  of 
love.  He  was  tired.  Stukeley  must  fight  his  own 
battles,  tell  his  own  lies,  maintain  his  own  decep- 
tions. He  was  too  weary  of  it  all  to  be  sad,  even 
when,  after  shaking  the  Governor's  hand  and  thank- 
ing him  for  his  kindness,  he  turned  to  Olivia,  with 
his  hand  outstretched. 

'  Well,  Olivia,'  he  said. 

'  Well,'  she  said.     ^  What  d'you  want,  Charles  } ' 

'  Are  you  going  home  } '  he  asked  bluntly. 

'  Of  course  I'm  going  home.  Do  you  think  that. 
Do  you  think  1  could  live  longer  in  that  ship,  eat- 
ing, and  lying  down,  and  watching  the  sea,  with  this 
being  said  of  me  ^ ' 

*  Yes,'  said  Stukeley,  *  I  think  you  could.  Put 
on  your  wraps,  Livy,  and  come  on.' 

*  Tom.       Tom,  dear.' 

'  I  would  go,  Mrs.  Stukeley,  if  I  were  you,'  said 
the  Governor.  '  You  couldn't  leave  the  colony 
here  much  before  November.' 

'  I  am  very  sorry,'  she  answered.  *  But  I  don't 
think  you  know  the  circumstances.' 

269 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  I've  discussed  them  with  Captain  Margaret/  he 
answered. 

'  You  discussed  them,  Charles  ? ' 

'  Yes,*  Margaret  said.  '  Howard  gives  good 
advice,  Olivia.' 

'  I  don't  think  my  wife  wants  your  advice,'  said 
Stukeley.  '  Come,  Livy.  Here  are  your  wraps. 
Come  on.     Don't  let's  have  a  scene.' 

'  Tom,'  she  said,  holding  out  her  hands,  swaying 
a  little,  her  eyes  blind  with  tears.  '  Tom,  I  beseech 
you,  let's  go  home.  What  is  your  pledged  word 
to— to  what  they  are  saying  } ' 

*  I'm  going  to  keep  my  word,'  he  answered 
brutally.  '  Good-bye,  Howard.  Thanks  for  the 
pie-crust.     I  hope,  next  time  I  see  you,  you'll  have 

some  decent  wine.     Your  port  is So  long.'     He 

turned  to  the  other  men.  ^  Come  on,  Pilly.  Come, 
Maggy.'  As  he  walked  to  the  door,  he  looked 
again  at  Howard.     '  So  long,  me  lord,'  he  said. 

'  Good-bye,  Mr.  Stukeley,'  said  Howard. 
'  Shake  hands.' 

*  No,  thank  you.' 

Stukeley  looked  at  him  with  some  amusement. 

'  Oxford  man.  Eh  ! '  he  said,  and  passed  out. 
Olivia  stood  swaying,  looking  after  him,  calling  to 
him,  through  her  tears. 

'  Will  you  come,  Olivia  } '  Margaret  asked  her 
gently. 

*  Come  with  you,  Charles  }  With  you  1  You 
believe  Tom  guilty.' 

*  Olivia,'  Perrin  said,  *  this  goes  round  your 
throat,  doesn't  it  1  Then,  here's  your  glove.  You 
mustn't  forget  your  glove.'  He  helped  her  with 
her  things,  evidently  deeply  pained. 

270 


A  FAREWELL   DINNER 

*  Thank  you,  dear,'  she  said,  speaking  as  one 
stunned. 

'  Take  my  arm,'  Perrin  whispered.  '  Let's  get 
into  the  fresh  air.' 

She  took  a  stumbling  step  forward,  her  hand  on 
Perrin's  arm,  then  paused,  and  faced  Margaret. 
*  You  think,  Charles.  You  think,  because.  Be- 
cause I'm  not  very  happy.  That  I  shall  not 
notice.  But  I  see.  Oh,  I  see  so  well.  You  wish 
to  poison  me  against  Tom.  You  wish  me  to  think. 
That.     That.     Him  guilty.' 

*  Quiet,  Margaret,'  said  Howard.  ^  Mrs.  Stuke- 
ley,  it's  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  your  husband  is 
guilty.  Better  now  than  later,'  he  added  to  Mar- 
garet in  a  low  voice.  *  She  can't  have  two  scenes 
like  this.  It'd  kill  her.  It  is  true,  Mrs.  Stukeley,' 
he  continued.  '  If  he  returns  to  England,  he  will 
be  hanged.  Now  you  two.  Take  her  out.  She's 
stunned.  Take  her  out  before  the  flunkies  notice. 
Get  to  sea.  Don't  wait.  Into  the  boat  with  her. 
Get  to  sea.     Get  to  the  devil.' 

The  two  men  supported  the  dazed  creature  to 
the  boat.  Howard  watched  them  from  his  pleas- 
aunce,  with  an  air  of  weary  boredom.  *  Like  club- 
bing a  kitten,'  he  said  to  himself  '  But  nervous 
women  are.     They  are.' 

He  watched  them  pass  away  into  the  night,  the 
oars  grunting  through  the  darkness,  the  voice  of 
the  coxswain  sounding  very  clear.  He  noted  it  as 
a  sign  of  rain.  Afterwards  he  heard  the  feet  tramp- 
ing round  the  capstan,  amid  yells  and  screams  and 
pistol-shots.  *  There  are  the  men  of  war.  The 
buccaneers,'  he  said  cynically.  *  My  reputation's 
gone.    I  forgot  them.'    He  stood  amid  his  flowers, 

271 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

watching  the  fireflies,  waiting  for  the  end.  He 
saw  dimly  the  jib  of  the  great  ship  cloaking  a  star. 
Then  among  the  screams  of  many  drunken  men, 
with  laughter,  and  shots,  and  oaths,  the  topsails 
jolted  up,  the  parrels  groaning,  to  a  ditty  about 
a  girl  in  Paradise  Street.  The  roaring  chorus  woke 
the  ships  in  harbour.  The  crews  answered,  cheer- 
ing, beating  their  bells.  The  bell  of  the  Broken 
Heart  was  rung  like  the  alarm  of  fire.  He  smiled 
to  hear  them,  repeating  the  phrases  he  had  planned 
for  his  official  report.  *  She  stole  away,  unnoticed, 
in  the  night,'  he  repeated.  '  So  that  I  could  not 
give  effect  to  the  Honourable  Board's  command.' 
'  It's  getting  chilly,'  he  said.  '  I  must  go  in.  She's 
gone.  She's  out  of  sight.'  From  very  far  away 
came  the  words  of  a  chorus,  the  cat-fall  chorus, 
sung  by  men  so  drunk  that  they  had  to  take  the 
cat-fall  to  the  capstan  : — 

Blow,  my  bullies,  blow 

For  Springer's  Key,  ay  O. 

There's  plenty  of  gold, 

So  I've  been  told. 

On  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Diablo. 

It  was  the  last  of  her  farewells.  Howard  went 
indoors,  to  his  game  of  cribbage  with  Mrs.  Prinsep. 
^  They  have  gone  to  found  an  empire,'  he  said 
to  himself.  'That  song  is  an  imperial  hymn.  Men 
of  the  Breed.     Eh.?' 


272 


X 

The   LANDFALL 

*  We  are  arrived  among  the  blessed  islands, 
Where  every  wind  that  rises  blows  perfumes, 
And  every  breath  of  air  is  like  an  incense ; 
The  treasure  of  the  sun  dwells  here/ — The  Island  Princess, 

*This  new  come  Captain 
Hath  both  a  ship  and  men/ — The  Sea  Foyage, 

T^HE  Broken  Heart  made  a  poor  passage.  The 
eighteen  hundred  miles  of  sea  between  the 
Capes  and  the  Samballoes  were  dragged  through 
wearily,  in  calms,  in  light  airs,  in  head  winds, 
during  six  weeks  of  torment.  Through  the  Florida 
Channel,  across  a  sea  of  brass  ;  through  the  Yuca- 
tan Channel,  hugging  the  Cuban  side ;  then  launch- 
ing out,  past  Grand  Cayman,  past  Providence,  she 
rolled  and  drove,  foul  with  her  months  at  sea. 
Her  gilt  was  battered  off,  her  paint  peeled  ;  her 
once  white  decks  were  crossed  with  tar  marks, 
where  the  seam-tar,  sticking  to  shoes,  had  been 
impressed  crosswise  as  the  seamen  walked.  An 
awning  was  over  her  poop.  Her  boys  splashed 
her  decks  continually  with  salt  water.  The  men 
about  decks  did  their  work  languidly.  At  night 
they  lay  among  the  booms,  sheltered  from  the  dew, 
sleeping  in  their  watches,  their  eyes  covered  lest 
the  moon  should  blast  them. 

A  ship  driving  to  the  south,  with  all  her  sails 
set,  her  side  a  little  bowed,  whitening  a  line  along 
T  273 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

her  fo'c's'le,  is  beautiful  to  see,  noble,  an  image  of 
wonder.  She  should  be  allowed  to  pass,  swaying 
her  beauty  in  a  rhythm  ;  for  beauty  is  enough  ; 
one  should  not  question  beauty.  If  one  question, 
then  in  that  stately  ship  may  be  found  a  hell.  Men 
mutinous,  officers  overdriven,  boys  in  misery,  the 
captain  drunk  ;  wasted  men  forward,  flying  from 
justice  ;  broken  men  aft,  carrying  their  incompe- 
tence to  other  lands,  to  breed  it  there  unchecked  ; 
the  rigging  rotten,  the  sails  threadbare,  all  the  hull 
of  the  ship  an  outcry,  a  decay,  a  fraud  ;  down  in 
the  hold  a  fire  smouldering,  a  little  red  glow,  a  fire- 
ball, not  flame  yet,  waiting,  charring  the  beams, 
blackening  in  the  bales,  till  the  wind  fan  it  to  a 
crackling  triumph,  to  a  blaze,  a  mastery,  amid  the 
screams  of  men,  amid  death.  Even  such  a  ship 
was  the  Bro\en  Hearty  as  she  drove  on  to  the 
south,  her  sails  slatting.  Within  her  were  many 
tortured  hearts,  each  heart  a  chamber  in  hell,  in 
the  hell  of  the  wicked  or  the  weak,  where  the 
prisoned  soul  atoned,  or  added  to  the  account  to  be 
paid  later.  At  the  galley  door,  waiting  for  the 
cook  to  let  them  light  their  pipes,  their  one  plea- 
sure, the  seamen  watched  the  gentry,  envying 
them,  talking  bitterly  of  them,  angry  at  the  world's 
injustice  to  themselves,  angry  at  the  ease  which 
they  would  lack,  though  they  lived  to  be  old  men, 
always  working  hard. 

Of  all  the  ship's  company,  Olivia  was  the  most 
to  be  pitied,  for  she  was  in  the  worst  hell.  Her 
soul  had  been  bruised  in  the  stalk  ;  all  that  made 
life  for  her  had  been  taken  from  her  violently. 
She  could  not  think.  When  she  rose  up  an  image 
rose  up  with  her.     If  she  shut  her  eyes,  it  was 

274 


The   LANDFALL 

there  ;  if  she  looked  out  over  the  sea,  it  was  there 
still  :  the  image  of  the  room  ashore  ;  the  fruit 
plates,  the  smell  of  wine,  the  men  standing  guiltily, 
the  sheet  of  creased  letter,  with  its  fine,  tremulous 
writing.  All  of  it  she  saw.  It  was  always  with 
her.  When  she  lay  down  it  was  there  ;  when  she 
slept  it  was  heavy  upon  her,  like  the  trance  of  a 
sick  man.  Sometimes,  in  spite  of  her  will,  against 
her  nature,  it  played  itself  over  to  her  in  her  mind, 
like  a  farce,  a  stupid  farce,  ending  in  tragedy,  in 
one  stunning  blow,  crushing  out  sense,  as  it  had 
crushed  her  in  life.  Her  husband  would  be  there, 
rude  and  common — rude  to  her,  common  before 
all  those  men — stripping  away  the  cloaks  her  love 
had  wrapped  about  him.  Her  husband,  the 
flaming  young  love,  the  man  she  had  chosen,  was 
before  her,  acting  as  she  had  once  seen  a  drunken 
man  act  when  dragged  by  his  wife  out  of  a  beer- 
shop.  She  had  loved  that,  given  herself  to  that. 
Then  Howard's  words,  clubbing  home  the  meaning 
of  her  husband's  rudeness.  That  horrible  flash  of 
insight,  of  intuition,  which  made  the  guilt  apparent; 
that  was  harder  to  bear  than  Howard's  words, 
more  terrible,  now  that  it  returned  to  her.  All 
along  the  memories  of  her  married  life  were  head- 
lands, promontories,  projecting  blacknesses,  unex- 
plained, irritating;  the  unanswered  questions  which 
had  puzzled  her.  Thus  and  thus  her  husband  had 
acted  in  the  past,  queerly,  she  had  thought,  even 
then,  not  as  she  would  have  had  him  act,  not  as  a 
knight  would  have  acted,  not  as  the  men  she  had 
known  would  have  acted.  The  acts  had  puzzled 
her,  they  had  frightened  her  ;  but  she  had  ex- 
plained them,  she  had  told  herself  that  men  were 

275 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

different,  and  that  she  loved  this  man.  Now  there 
came  a  light,  a  sudden  meteor.  The  black  capes 
and  headlands  glared  out  upon  her,  lit  up,  one 
after  the  other,  in  a  baleful  vista,  a  marching, 
illuminated  army  of  witnesses,  glaring  out  his  guilt, 
one  after  the  other,  day  after  day,  night  after 
night,  a  sleepless  company.  They  seemed  to  shout 
to  her,  tossing  the  words  one  from  the  other,  in 
her  disordered  mind,  ^  If  he  returns  to  England, 
he  will  be  hanged.*  He  had  said  that  he  had  loved 
her  ;  but  that  seemed  ages  ago  ;  and  he  had  tricked 
her  into  this,  deceived  her  at  every  turn,  lied  to 
her,  cajoled  others  into  lying  to  her,  all  the  time 
amusing  himself,  laughing,  pretending,  a  common 
thing,  a  man  with  a  mind  like  a  footman's.  At 
first,  nerving  herself,  she  had  tried  to  talk  with 
him,  willing  to  forgive,  only  asking,  for  her  own 
part,  an  explanation.  She  would  have  been  con- 
tent with  that.  She  would  have  been  almost  happy 
had  he  come  to  her  like  an  erring  boy,  asking  her 
to  count  him  merely  that.  She  had  spoken  to  him 
in  her  cabin  that  night,  pleading  with  him,  kneel- 
ing to  him,  while  the  drunkards  on  deck  made  sail. 
Her  whole  world  had  lain  in  ruins  ;  she  had 
thought  that  nothing  more  could  hurt  her  ;  but 
when  she  spoke  the  ruins  flew  about  her,  wounding 
her,  cutting  her  to  the  quick.  He  had  answered 
her  brutally.  His  answer  had  come,  as  it  were,  set 
to  the  music  of  the  drunkards  above.  It  would 
not  out  of  her  head.  All  her  nerves  shook  with  it, 
as  though  the  blow  struck  her  in  her  face.  He 
had  sworn  at  her,  jeered  at  her,  called  her  a  lump 
of  cold  batter,  told  her  to  get  to  the  devil,  told  her 
that  he  was  sick  of  the  sight  of  her,  that  he  had 

276 


The   LANDFALL 

married  her  for  her  money,  that  if  she  gave  him 
any  more  of  her  canting  preaching  he'd  hit  her  one 
that  she'd  remember.  Later  in  the  night,  as  she 
lay  crying  at  his  side,  he  bade  her  for  God's  sake 
to  stop  snivelling,  so  that  he  might  get  to  sleep. 
As  she  could  not  stop,  he  had  arisen,  telling  her 
that  she  might  cry  herself  sick,  but  that  he  was 
going  to  Mrs.  Inigo,  a  woman  who  wasn't  quite 
such  a  cold  poultice.  She  had  not  stopped  him. 
She  could  not  stop  him.  He  had  gone  from  her  ; 
leaving  her  life  too  empty  for  her  to  wish  even  to 
kill  herself. 

Another  dreadful  thing,  still  dreadful,  although 
so  much  was  numbed  in  her,  was  the  meeting  with 
her  husband  the  next  day.  She  had  thought  him 
some  common  stranger  ;  that  had  been  the  dread- 
ful thing.  He  had  seemed  vulgar  to  her  ;  a  person 
out  of  her  circle  ;  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
speak  to  him.  All  that  she  could  do  was  to  glance 
at  his  neck  continually.  It  had  a  horrible  fascina- 
tion for  her,  this  neck  that  the  rope  was  laid  for. 
She  did  not  hate  him.  He  was  dead  to  her  ;  that 
was  all  ;  the  worst  horror  was  when  she  remem- 
bered her  love-days,  seeing  him  now  as  he  was. 
She  bore  her  lot  alone,  shut  up  in  her  cabin,  seldom 
venturing  out.  At  times  she  would  lie  back,  in  a 
nervous  crisis,  clenching  her  fingers  into  her  palms, 
shaking  with  the  hate  of  Captain  Margaret.  He 
might,  she  thought,  have  spared  her  that  scene 
at  the  Governor's.  But  no  ;  it  was  all  his  plan  ; 
all  ;  from  the  very  first  ;  his  plan  to  have  her  near 
him.  That  was  his  love  for  her,  to  have  her  near 
him,  to  poison  her  against  her  husband,  to  tempt 
her  husband  with  another  woman,  to  heap  all  these 

277 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

indignities,  all  these  torments,  so  that  he,  the  lover, 
might  triumph.  All  the  voyage  he  had  been  at  it. 
Little  things  came  back  to  her  now  ;  little  tender, 
insinuating  acts.  They  came  over  her  in  a  shock 
of  shame.  She  hated  him,  she  hated  him.  And 
yet,  for  all  her  hate  of  him,  she  could  not  think 
of  leaving  the  ship,  nor  of  what  her  future  was 
to  be ;  that  was  all  dead  and  blank  to  her.  England 
was  dead  and  blank  to  her.  She  could  not  go  back 
to  England,  save  as  some  wounded  hare,  with  the 
blood  glazing  on  her  fur,  limping  to  her  form 
to  die.  She  was  stunned ;  she  could  not  think. 
Her  death  in  life  would  go  on  for  a  little  ;  perhaps 
for  a  long  while  ;  it  did  not  matter  how.  Then 
it  would  stop  ;  all  that  she  could  ask  would  be 
that  it  might  soon  stop.  Perrin  was  the  only  person 
whom  she  could  bear  to  see,  or  to  speak  with.  It 
was  through  him,  she  guessed,  that  her  husband 
was  removed  from  her  sight.  He  was  living  now, 
Perrin  told  her,  in  the  'tween-decks,  having  his 
meals  in  the  wardroom.  Perrin,  Margaret,  and 
Cammock  had  taken  to  living  in  their  cabins,  so 
that  she  might  not  be  oppressed  with  company. 
She  filled  in  the  unsaid  portion  of  Perrin^s  speech 
with  '  living  with  Mrs.  Inigo '  ;  and  she  knew  from 
Perrin*s  face  that  he  understood  her  thought,  and 
that  she  was  right.  She  liked  Perrin  more  and 
more  as  the  days  passed.  She  understood  him 
now,  she  thought.  The  world  had  gentled  him  by 
some  such  blow  as  had  crushed  her.  She  could 
never  think  of  him  as  the  thoroughly  foolish  man 
he  was.  She  only  thought  of  him  as  a  poor  hurt 
waif,  almost  a  woman  in  many  ways,  who  felt  for 
her  keenly  enough  to  know  that  he  must  not  show 

278 


The   LANDFALL 

his  feeling.  She  liked  his  shy  way  of  coming  into 
the  cabin  in  the  late  afternoon,  when  the  steward 
served  the  chocolate.  He  would  enter  shyly,  speak- 
ing with  a  false  air  of  jocularity,  to  propose  chess, 
poetry,  a  game  at  cards,  or  a  little  music.  The 
time  would  pass  quietly.  He  would  lose  that  false 
air  of  his  ;  they  would  talk  together  almost  like 
sisters,  until  the  change  of  the  watch  at  six  o'clock. 
He  helped  her  through  her  worst  days,  nor  did  she 
ever  know  that  the  tales  he  told  her,  the  little 
jokes  in  his  conversation,  were  repeated  from  the 
talk  of  the  man  she  hated  ;  as  the  hated  man  had 
planned,  in  his  blind  love  for  her. 

Captain  Margaret  had  his  little  hell  about  him  ; 
the  days  were  bitter  to  him.  All  day  long,  and 
through  the  night,  he  had  the  image  of  his  dis- 
honour with  him.  All  the  weeks  of  deceit,  all  the 
acts  of  deceit,  all  the  long  strain  of  pretence  ;  they 
were  all  over.  They  had  ended  in  her  hating  and 
suspecting  him.  He  would  lie  awake  in  the  night, 
and  the  memory  of  his  deceit  would  eat  into  him 
like  acid,  burning.  He  would  blush,  lying  there 
in  his  bunk,  at  the  thought  of  his  baseness  ;  it 
stuck  in  his  throat,  now  that  he  could  see  things 
clearly.  He  had  eaten  dirt  in  a  vile  cause  ;  all 
honest  men  must  loathe  him,  he  thought.  Then 
came  another  memory,  the  memory  of  Olivia,  her 
beauty,  her  paleness,  her  voice,  her  sorrow.  It  was 
bitter  to  him  to  feel  that  he  was  the  bitterest  part 
of  her  sorrow,  and  that  he  could  not  help  her,  nor 
comfort  her,  but  only  prompt  Perrin  to  help  her. 
He  tried  to  tell  himself  that  her  beauty  was  an 
excuse  for  him.  His  love  had  been  noble  enough ; 
it  had  not  been  selfish  ;  he  had  had  little  joy  of  the 

279 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

ignoble  things  he  had  done  for  her  sake.  He 
wished  that  some  spirit  would  surround  his  tor- 
tured head  with  heavenly  essence,  so  that  he  might 
see  clearly,  as  God  sees,  all  the  moral  value  of  his 
acts,  all  the  right  and  the  wrong,  in  fiery  letters, 
easy  to  read.  She  was  very  beautiful,  and  still 
young.  Meanwhile  he  had  his  life  to  live,  and  his 
task  to  do.  It  was  not  going  to  be  an  easy  task. 
He  was  coming  to  it  broken.  His  only  comfort 
in  these  days  was  the  knowledge  that  Stukeley  had 
lied  when  he  had  said  that  Olivia  was  going  to  have 
a  child.  That  horror  was  removed  for  ever.  Stuke- 
ley had  lied.  He  prayed  that  some  day  the  patient 
fates  would  take  Stukeley,  and  show  him,  for  an 
instant,  before  death,  the  image  of  himself.  He 
needed  not  to  have  prayed.  To  most  of  us  the 
patient  fates  come,  holding  up  that  image.  Besides, 
Margaret  knew  well  that  Stukeley  had  had  his 
image  spoiled  for  him  by  the  accident  of  his  birth. 
The  man  loved  animals;  was  truly  kind  and  thought- 
ful with  them.  He  should  have  been  a  groom,  a 
hunt  groom,  with  an  alehouse  and  ostlers  for  his 
evenings.  Margaret  could  see  Stukeley  holding  up 
his  hands,  when  his  image  came  to  him,  saying 
that  it  was  not  his  own  work,  but  the  work  of  the 
drunken  fox-hunter  his  father,  who  came  home 
bloody  from  the  mangling  of  a  fox,  to  give  his 
little  son  drink,  and  to  tgg  him  on  to  kiss  the 
maids. 

Cammock  was  not  free  from  trouble  ;  he  had  his 
own  share.  The  Bro\en  Heart  was  no  happier  to 
him,  though  he  no  longer  suffered  from  Stukeley. 
The  men  of  war  were  the  cause  of  the  trouble,  even 
as  he   had  feared.     They  were  too   independent, 

280 


The   LANDFALL 

they  resented  control,  they  had  a  bad  effect  upon 
the  ship's  discipline.  He  had  had  trouble  with 
them  from  the  very  first,  when  they  came  aboard 
drunk,  twenty-seven  of  them,  bringing  with  them, 
as  members  of  their  company,  the  two  deserters 
from  the  trading-booth.  He  had  promptly  put  the 
two  deserters  into  irons  for  a  night.  He  had  then 
turned  them  forward,  stopped  their  rum  for  the 
voyage,  and  forced  them  to  work  on  deck  from 
eight  in  the  morning  till  four  in  the  afternoon,  on 
all  days,  whether  it  was  their  watch  or  not.  This 
had  caused  a  mutiny  among  the  men  of  war.  They 
had  come  on  deck  to  demand  the  return  of  their 
mates.  Margaret,  having  called  all  hands  aft,  had 
spoken  to  them,  as  Cammock  confessed,  *  like  a 
father.'  He  had  read  his  commission  to  them. 
He  had  promised  them  that,  if  they  showed  any 
signs  of  rebellion,  he  would  land  them  at  an 
English  colony,  where  they  should  be  drafted  into 
the  Navy  without  mercy.  He  had  then  called  out 
the  two  men  who  had  been  most  noisy  in  the 
mutiny,  and  had  put  them  in  the  bilboes  abaft  the 
main  mast,  under  a  sentry,  for  the  next  three  days. 
But  though  the  mutiny  was  crushed,  the  ill-feeling 
remained.  The  men  of  war  went  about  their  duties 
sullenly,  showing  that  they  resented  his  action. 
The  fo'c's'le  hands,  quick  to  catch  the  mutinous 
temper,  became  '  soldiers,'  who  loafed  and  skulked, 
till  the  mates,  goaded  by  their  insolence,  made  pro- 
test, with  a  bight  of  the  topgallant  brace.  Cam- 
mock  had  more  than  the  anxieties  of  office  on  his 
shoulders.  He  had  to  walk  the  poop,  the  captain 
of  all  on  board,  in  a  false  position.  In  a  sense  he 
was  a  privateer.     Had   he   been,  as  he  once  was, 

281 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

a  privateer  only,  he  would  have  known  how  to 
handle  the  privateers  beneath  him.  He  understood 
them.  He  could  even  feel  for  them  ;  he  knew  how 
they  felt  towards  him  ;  when  he  saw  them  hanging 
round  the  hatch,  cursing  the  cruise  and  all  on 
board.  But  in  the  Bro\en  Heart  he  was  less  the 
privateer  than  the  merchant  captain  going  trading. 
He  had  divided  interests  to  manage  ;  he  had  a 
divided  crew  under  his  comniand.  He  could  see 
that  the  temper  of  the  ship  was  as  bad  as  it  could 
be.  The  men  were  in  that  difficult  state  a  little  on 
this  side  of  mutiny,  always  on  the  verge,  never 
quite  declaring,  but  sullen  enough  to  make  their 
captain's  life  an  anxious  life.  He  expected  that 
their  arrival  at  Springer's  Key  would  put  them  in  a 
better  spirit.  He  wished  that  he  could  give  them 
some  fighting  on  the  way  ;  for  it  was  the  belief  of 
his  old  commander  that  there  is  nothing  like  the 
sight  of  a  dead  or  wounded  comrade  to  make  a 
man  look  to  his  leader  with  trust  and  thankfulness. 
Meanwhile  he  drilled  all  hands  daily  at  the  guns, 
expecting  a  refusal  of  duty  at  any  moment. 
Thinking  of  the  situation  in  the  quiet  of  his  cabin, 
he  decided  that  the  crew  would  not  stand  failure. 
^  If  we  fail,'  he  said,  '  this  gang  will  not  try  twice. 
No  privateers  will.  And  these  aren't  the  pick  of 
the  Kipe.'  He  felt  that  the  cruise  would  fail. 
His  forebodings  obsessed  him.  When  he  walked  the 
poop  at  nights,  walking  athwartships  now,  not  fore 
and  aft,  lest  the  helmsman  should  attack  him  from 
behind,  he  was  sure  that  he  would  never  see  home 
again.  He  was  always  imagining  a  place  of  noise 
and  smoke,  with  himself  falling  forward  on  the  sand, 
looking  his  last,  shot  in  the  body.     The  obsession 

282 


The   LANDFALL 

made  him  more  serious  than  usual.  He  borrowed 
a  Testament  from  Perrin  and  read  the  last  chapter. 
Perrin  angered  him  by  saying  that  the  last  chapter 
bored  him  to  death. 

As  for  Stukeley,  his  senses  were  gratified  ;  he 
asked  for  nothing  more  from  the  world.  He  had 
every  reason  to  feel  satisfied.  He  had  not  been 
arrested  in  Virginia,  that  was  good  ;  he  had  broken 
with  his  batter-pudding  of  a  wife,  that  was  better  ; 
and  he  was  no  longer  tortured  by  the  prigs  of  the 
cabin.  He  was  messing  now  in  the  wardroom, 
with  Cottrill  and  Ramage,  visiting  Mrs.  Inigo 
openly,  whenever  he  liked  ;  that  was  best  of  all. 
Neither  Margaret  nor  Perrin  had  spoken  to  him 
since  he  had  bragged  to  them  of  having  broken 
with  Olivia,  of  having  fooled  them  about  her  child. 
Cammock  had  told  him  that  he  was  to  leave  the 
cabin  precincts  and  that  when  they  wanted  him  as 
an  interpreter  they  would  send  for  him  ;  but  that 
until  then  he  would  either  lie  low  or  go  in  irons. 
At  the  moment  he  was  too  pleased  with  his  suc- 
cesses to  regret  his  loss  of  power.  He  was  content 
to  lie  low,  and  to  refrain  from  offering  insults  to 
all  who  irritated  him.  He  patched  up  a  truce  with 
Mr.  Cottrill,  whom  he  found  to  be  good  company. 
He  made  friends  with  Smut,  the  ship's  cat,  and 
taught  one  of  her  kittens  to  walk  on  bottle-mouths. 
He  made  friends  with  several  of  the  men  of  war, 
who  had  their  mess  without  the  wardroom.  He 
would  sing  *  Old  Rose '  and  '  TwankydiHo  *  to 
them,  in  the  fine  bass  voice  of  which  he  was  so 
vain.  Like  most  seafaring  men,  the  privateers 
thought  much  of  a  fine  singer.  They  used  to  hang 
about  the  wardroom  door  after  supper,  to  hear  him 

283 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

singing  quietly  to  himself,  going  over  his  trills  and 
gurgles.  He  had  but  to  come  out  into  the  'tween- 
decks  to  find  himself  a  popular  idol.  Men  would 
rise  up  from  their  chests,  with  real  courtesy,  as  he 
came  among  them.  If  there  were  singers  there 
they  became  silent  suddenly,  tale-tellers  ceased  in 
their  stories.  There  came  a  low  murmur  of  Good 
evening,  sir.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Stukeley.  Will 
you  sit  down,  sir  }  Are  we  past  the  Serranas  yet, 
d'ye  know,  sir  ? '  till  he  was  entrapped  among  them. 
As  he  did  not  know  sailors,  he  took  all  this  to  be  a 
tribute  to  his  good  looks,  to  his  fine  physique,  to 
his  manner,  to  his  taking  conversation.  He  used 
to  get  them  to  tell  him  of  their  lives  on  the  coast, 
believing  that  it  was  a  kind  of  life  which  might 
please  himself.  He  inquired  also  of  the  life  in 
the  Spanish  towns,  that  lazy,  luxurious  life,  with  so 
many  opportunities  for  amassing  wealth  and  for 
self-indulgence.  A  buccaneer  would  handle  a 
guitar,  and  sing,  in  a  high,  false,  musical  whine, 
about  '  my  Santa  Marta.'  Another  buccaneer, 
drumming  on  his  chest-lid,  would  begin  about  the 
Spanish  girls  and  the  sack  of  Porto  Bello.  Listen- 
ing to  them,  down  in  the  half-darkness,  Stukeley 
felt  that  he,  too,  would  soon  taste  of  that  life. 
He  would  lie  in  a  grass  hammock,  fanned  by  a 
Spanish-Indian  girl,  whose  great  eyes  would  look 
into  his.  Eh  ?  He  would  eat  skewered  *  soldiers  ' 
from  the  hands  of  an  Indian  wife.  He  would  catch 
fireflies  to  stick  in  her  hair.  Perhaps  he  would  see 
the  sack  of  a  town,  with  the  women  crouched  in 
their  rooms,  waiting  for  the  conquerors.  '  Brown 
women  ;  modest,  lively  little  things,'  so  Raphael 
Gamage  told  him. 


The   LANDFALL 

The  days  dragged  by  slowly.  The  Bro\en  Heart 
crawled  like  a  slug,  leaving  a  slug's  track  on  the 
sea.  The  bells  struck,  the  sails  slatted.  The  sun 
arose  greyly  in  mist,  then  burned  the  mist  away, 
a  spilling  spring  of  light,  in  a  sky  like  blue  fire. 
Then  in  the  glare  of  noon  the  chart  was  marked, 
the  pencilled  dot  moved  forward  in  its  zigzag,  past 
the  Serranas,  past  Roncif,  past  the  Roncadores. 
Then  the  wind  came  fair  for  a  few  days  to  help  her 
to  the  south,  her  bows  in  a  heap  of  smother. 
Presently,  when  the  first  land-wind  came  to  them, 
in  a  faint  breath,  smelling,  as  they  said,  of  arnotto 
roses,  there  came  drifting  butterflies,  white  and 
blue,  very  lovely,  settling  and  dying  on  the  deck, 
like  petals  from  a  fruit  tree  in  spring.  A  strange 
bird  sailed  past  them,  drooping  her  legs,  her  wings 
beating  like  a  mill-wheel,  rhythmically,  her  fierce 
eyes  looking  ahead,  searching  the  sky.  AJ.trce 
tumbled  in  their  wash,  rolling  over  and  over.  A 
creeper  from  the  branches  sank  in  the  wake,  its 
leaves  like  little  green  hands,  clutching  out,  far 
down,  among  the  globes  of  the  bubbles.  Then 
when  the  sun  was  sinking,  when  the  air  was  intense 
and  clear,  like  the  air  in  a  vision,  far  ahead  a  bluish 
mist  showed,  so  dimly,  in  such  blue  faintness,  that 
one  could  not  be  sure.  Till  dark  they  watched  it. 
When  the  dawn  made  each  cloud  a  scale  of  scarlet, 
edged  with  fire  to  the  mid-heaven,  the  mist  took 
outline.  Long  before  sunset  the  land  lay  clear,  a 
long  purplish  line  of  land,  with  a  gleaming  peak  or 
two  round  which  the  cloud  streamed.  It  stretched 
away  on  each  side  of  them  like  an  army  in  rank. 
Parts  of  it  were  dim  ;  its  wings  were  dim  ;  but 
ahead  the  hills  were  gathered    close  ;    one  could 

385 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

count  each  fold  in  them.  Margaret,  loitering  on 
the  poop  with  Perrin,  watched  them  intently,  with 
emotions  which  mastered  him.  A  voice  seemed  to 
be  talking  to  him.  '  What  went  ye  out  for  to  see  V 
it  repeated.  He  had  gone  out  to  see  this  land, 
to  hear  the  multitudes  of  sea-fowl  scream.  There 
lay  the  land.  Like  all  lands  seen  from  the  sea,  it 
seemed  to  lure  him,  to  beckon  to  him,  to  be  full 
of  mystery,  of  mystery  which  he  could  solve. 

'So  that's  the  land,'  he  said  at  length.  *  What 
do  you  make  of  it,  Edward  } ' 

^\}'  said  Edward.  *  It  makes  me  shudder 
somehow.  It's  the  end  of  something.  Change  is 
always  horrible  to  me.' 

Cammock  joined  them,  thumbing  the  leaves  of 
a  portolano. 

'  We're  away  to  the  east,  sir,'  he  said  to  Mar- 
garet. '  If  you'll  stand  in  a  bit  further,  sir,  we 
shall  open  Golden  Island  clear,  before  dark.  That'll 
give  me  a  landfall  to  go  by.' 

'And  when  shall  we  make  Springer's  Key,  cap- 
tain .? ' 

'  To-morrow,  some  time,  sir.  But  we'll  stand 
in  further  here,  if  you  don't  mind.  There  may  be 
some  of  those  friends  of  ours  in  the  harbour  here. 
A  nice  little  sandy  bay  in  there,  sir.' 

Soon  the  hills  drew  nearer.  The  line  of  land 
became  jagged.  What  had  seemed  to  be  the  main 
now  showed  as  islands,  a  long,  low  island,  dark 
with  mangrove,  and  to  the  south  of  it  a  sloping 
peak,  wooded  to  the  top,  a  cone  of  green,  with 
rocks  about  it  over  which  the  breakers  toppled. 
Margaret  could  see  the  line  ,of  the  breakers  ad- 
vancing towards   them,  blue  and  glassy.     In   the 

a86 


The   LANDFALL 

stillness,  he  could  see  the  curl  on  the  wave,  the 
slow  running  of  the  curl  along  the  line,  then  the 
intense  brightness  of  the  burst,  a  momentary  marvel 
of  white.  He  looked  at  Cammock,  who  was 
looking  at  the  wooded  hill,  full  of  memories.  A 
few  of  the  men  of  war,  faking  a  hawser  in  the 
waist,  stopped  their  work  to  look  with  him.  One 
or  two  of  them,  raising  their  caps,  waved  to  the 
island.  *  Good  old  Golden  Island,*  they  cried. 
'  The  good  old  Golden  Island.' 

^  Yes,*  said  Captain  Cammock  to  Margaret. 
'That*s  Golden  Island.  Last  time  I  was  ashore 
there  we  were  three  hundred  strong,  going  across 
the  Isthmus.  We*d  fires  on  the  sands  there,  I  and 
my  brother  Bill,  roasting  crabs  together.  I  remem- 
ber we  chucked  pebbles  over  that  palm  on  the  spit 
there.  Queer  the  palm  being  there  and  Bill  gone, 
sir.    He  could  chuck  good,  too  ;  further'n  I  could.' 

'  You  were  very  much  attached  to  your  brother, 
weren't  you  } '  Margaret  asked  him. 

'  I  didn't  set  much  value  by  him  at  the  time,  sir. 
It's  afterwards  one  feels  it.  There's  a  little  black 
devil  of  a  reef  beyond  there,  two  feet  under  water 
at  a  low  spring.  You  don't  see  it,  and  yet  it  rips 
you  across  all  right.  Ready  oh,  Mr.  Cottrill. 
Haul  the  foot  of  the  mainsail  up.  Hands  about 
ship.     Ease  down  the  helium.' 

They  sailed  past  Golden  Island,  and  past  Sasardi, 
watching  the  colours  of  the  sunset  on  the  rocks  and 
woods.  The  brilliant  birds  flew  homing,  scream- 
ing. A  faint  smell,  sickly  sweet,  came  to  them  in 
puffs  from  the  shore.  Now  and  then,  in  the  quiet, 
they  heard  the  wash  of  breakers  bursting  on  reefs. 
The  noise  kept  them  company  at  intervals  through 

287 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

the  night,  as  they  drove  on,  under  the  stars,  past 
Pinos,  past  Zambo  Gandi,  towards  the  Point  of 
San  Bias.  It  burst  upon  them  mournfully,  like  the 
blowing  of  a  sea-beast,  a  wash,  a  breathing  of  the 
sea.  When  the  dawn  broke,  flashing  the  flying- 
fish  into  silver  arrows,  they  were  at  their  hearts' 
desire.  The  palms  on  Springer's  Key  were  trem- 
bling, in  the  light  air,  before  them.  The  ring  of 
reef  on  the  key's  north  side  stood  up  black  amid 
the  surf  that  toppled  tirelessly.  Pelicans  flew  past 
to  fish.  Macaws  screamed  from  the  fruit  trees. 
Two  Indians,  with  gold  in  their  noses,  waved  to 
them  from  their  canoe  as  they  paddled  softly,  to 
spear  cavally.  Beyond  them,  at  anchor  off  the  key, 
was  a  small  sloop.  Her  men  were  filling  water 
ashore,  wading  slowly  up  the  beach  with  puncheons. 
The  saluting  gun,  fired  by  Cammock's  order,  made 
them  gather  together  in  a  group.  One  of  them 
waved.  Others,  still  in  the  boat,  rowed  out  to 
show  the  channel.  The  sun  shone  bright  over  the 
multitude  of  islands.  The  sea  was  so  blue  that 
the  beauty  of  her  colour  was  like  a  truth  appre- 
hended. It  was  so  perfect  a  beauty  that  Margaret, 
looking  on  it,  felt  that  he  apprehended  the  truth. 

*  Perrin,'  he  said,  *  Edward,  what  do  you  think 
of  our  home  .? ' 

'  Fm  not  thinking  of  that,'  he  answered.  '  I 
think  that  all  these  things  are  images  in  an  intellect. 
I  think,  by  brooding  on  them,  one  passes  into  that 
intellect.' 

The  colours  and  house-flag  blew  out  clear  as  the 
ship  came  to  her  berth.  The  sloop  fired  a  salute  ; 
the  Broken  Heart  answered  her.  Soon  she  was 
opposite  the  little  sandy  beach  in  the  centre  of  the 

288 


The   LANDFALL 

key.  Her  sails  drooped,  her  way  checked  ;  then, 
at  Cammock's  shout,  the  anchor  dropped,  the  cable 
running  with  a  rattle,  making  the  little  fish  scurry 
past,  in  view,  though  a  fathom  down. 

'  Well,  sir,'  said  Cammock,  '  we've  broken  the 
neck  of  that.' 

*  Yes,  captain.     And  now  } ' 

'  I've  had  the  old  sail-room  turned  into  a  dining- 
room.  It's  laid  for  breakfast  now,  sir.  I've  got  to  see 
the  captain  of  that  sloop  and  learn  the  news.  That's 
the  first  thing.     Call  my  boat  away,  boatswain.' 

The  privateer  sloop  was  the  Happy  Return  of 
Jamaica,  Captain  Tucket,  bound  on  a  roving  cruise 
with  twenty  men  and  a  French  commission.  She 
carried  six  small  guns,  and  her  men  wore  arms,  all 
of  the  very  choicest  make  ;  but  her  hold  was  full 
of  goods  which  Captain  Tucket  wished  to  sell. 
From  Jamaica  he  had  brought  beads  and  coloured 
cloths,  with  which  he  was  buying  gold-dust,  wax, 
and  bird-peppers  from  the  Indians.  He  had  also 
several  tons  of  Guiaquil  chocolate  and  sweetmeats 
lately  taken  on  the  sea.  He  had  come  to  Springer's 
Key,  he  said,  to  fill  water,  before  going  east  along 
the  coast,  as  far  as  the  'Seniqua,  looking  for  log- 
wood. Things  were  quiet,  he  said,  along  the 
Main  ;  there  was  nothing  doing  ;  only  a  few  barca- 
longas  taken.  There  had  been  talk  at  La  Sound's 
Key  of  combining  and  going  to  the  Santa  Maria 
gold-mines,  but  it  had  come  to  nothing.  The 
French  and  English  would  not  agree  upon  a  leader. 
For  his  own  part,  he  said,  he  believed  there  was 
logwood  along  some  of  these  rivers  east  there,  and 
he  was  going  to  look  for  it.  He  was  a  shrewd,  but 
frank,  elderly  man. 

u  289 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  Look  here/  he  said,  taking  out  a  handkerchief. 
^  There's  some  of  it.  1  dyed  that  of  a  slip  I  cut. 
None  of  your  business  where.  There's  a  pretty 
red  for  you.  And  I  got  another  dodge  I'm  work- 
ing at.     Here.     What  d'you  make  of  these  ? ' 

He  flung  upon  the  table  a  few  little  sticks,  some 
of  them  crimson,  some  blue. 

'  What  are  these  } '  said  Margaret,  examining 
them.     '  Are  they  wax  } ' 

*  Yes,  sir.     Ordinary  beeswax.* 

*  You've  got  them  a  very  beautiful  clear  colour. 
Look,  Edward.  Did  you  learn  the  secret  your- 
self.?' 

'  You  wouldn't  learn  to  do  them  at  one  of  your 
English  colleges,  sir.' 

'  No.     Will  the  colour  stand  fire  } ' 

'  They're  very  good  coloured  wax  anyway,'  said 
Captain  Tucket,  putting  them  away. 

'  We  was  thinking  of  trying  to  trade  at  Tolu,' Cam- 
mock  said.    *  Would  you  care  to  stand  in  with  us.-^' 

'  At  Tolu  ? ' 

'  They  may  not  trade,  of  course  ;  but ' 

'  I've  come  here,'  Margaret  said,  *  to  establish  a 
trade.  Captain  Tucket.  If  I'm  not  allowed  to  trade 
with  the  Spanish  towns,  I  shall  trade  here,  like 
you,  and  defend  such  traders  as  come  to  me.  All 
this  coast  is  going  to  waste.  I  want  to  see  all  you 
roving  traders  banded  together  to  make  use  of  it. 
The  Spanish  can't  work  it.  Why  should  not  you 
join  us,  with  your  men,  for  a  beginning  ? ' 

^The  jackal  went  a-huntin'  with  the  lion,  sir. 
But  it  wasn't  him  got  the  tender-loin,'  said  Tucket. 

'You  mean  you're  afraid  that  my  men  might 
impose  on  yours  ? ' 

290 


The   LANDFALL 

'Ah  come,  come,  Abel,*  said  Cammock.  'We're 
old  hands,  you  and  I.     It's  all  a  matter  of  articles.' 

'  I  must  talk  it  over,'  said  Abel.  '  I'll  run  over 
to  La  Sound's  Key  and  talk  it  out  with  my  mates. 
I  won't  say.  No,  sir.  I  won't  say.  Not  one  way 
or  the  other.' 

He  left  soon  after  breakfast,  and,  having  now 
filled  his  water,  sailed  from  the  key. 

'  He's  afraid  of  me,'  said  Margaret.  '  He's 
afraid  that  I  come  from  the  Government,  to  put 
down  privateering.    Isn't  that  what's  in  his  mind  } ' 

'  No,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  '  He's  pleased  with 
the  notion.  He's  a  trader.  He  wants  to  cut  log- 
wood without  any  fear  of  guarda-costas.  He'll 
take  all  the  defence  you  care  to  give  ;  but  he  won't 
come  cruising  with  you  till  he's  got  enough  friends 
to  stop  you  taking  the  lion's  share.  He'll  be  back 
to-morrow  with  some  friends.' 

Margaret  went  ashore,  after  this,  to  view  the  key. 
It  was  one  of  the  larger  keys  of  the  archipelago. 
It  was  about  a  mile  long,  running  east  and  west, 
and  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  across  at  its  broadest 
part.  In  its  highest  part  it  was  not  more  than 
sixty  feet  above  the  water  ;  but  the  trees  rising  up 
above  it  to  great  height  made  it  seem  hilly.  A 
sandy  beach  shelved  down  into  the  water  on  the 
side  facing  the  Isthmus.  On  the  north  side  the 
shore  was  rocky  and  steep-to,  and  hemmed  about, 
by  a  five-mile  sweep  of  reef,  in  a  ring  of  breakers. 
Indeed,  the  reef  ringed  the  key  round  ;  but  the 
rocks  about  the  beach  did  not  break  the  seas.  The 
island  could  only  be  approached  from  the  south 
and  east.  On  the  other  sides  neither  ship  nor  boat 
could   come  within  great-gun-shot.     To  the  east, 

291 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

for  a  dozen  miles  or  more,  an  array  of  palm  keys 
stretched,  with  reefs  in  tumult  round  them.  To 
approach  the  key  from  the  east  one  had  to  sail 
within  these  keys,  in  a  channel  or  fairway  known 
as  Springer's  Drive.  This  channel  was  bordered  to 
the  south  by  the  keys  fringing  the  Isthmus.  The 
double  line  of  keys,  separated  by  three  miles  of  sea, 
made  a  sort  of  palm  hedge,  or  avenue,  up  to  the 
anchorage.  There  was  good  holding-ground  and 
riding  in  every  part  of  the  Drive ;  but  ships 
usually  rode  near  Springer's  Key,  for  they  could 
get  water  there.  Unlike  most  of  the  keys,  it  had 
a  spring,  which  bubbled  up  strongly  on  the  beach, 
through  an  old  sunk  tar-barrel,  some  yards  beyond 
the  tide-marks.  The  water  was  cold  and  clear, 
gushing  up  with  a  gurgle,  making  the  sand  grains 
dance.  The  bottom  of  the  cask  was  covered  with 
rusty  iron,  old  nails,  old  blades  of  knives,  old 
round-shot,  laid  there  by  sailors,  long  ago,  in  the 
belief  that  they  would  make  the  water  medicinal. 
Some  one  had  dammed  up  a  pool  below  the  cask,  for 
the  easier  filling  of  the  water-breakers.  The  water 
gurgled  away,  over  the  lip  of  the  pool,  amid  a  tangle 
of  water  plants  that  bore  a  profuse,  sweet  blossom, 
like  a  daisy.  Margaret  had  never  seen  a  lovelier 
place.  The  brightness  of  the  sun  on  the  sea,  the 
green  of  the  trees  towering  up  beyond  him,  the 
macaws  of  all  colours,  making  their  mockeries  in 
sweet  notes,  were  beautiful  exceedingly.  It  was  all 
new  and  strange  to  him.  He  half  wished  that 
he  might  be  left  alone  there.  He  had  no  longer 
any  wish  to  succeed.  Had  Olivia  been  on  the 
other  side  of  the  v/orld,  his  strength  would  have 
gone  to  make  this  spot  a  home  for  half  the  ships 

292 


The  LANDFALL 

in  the  world.  They  would  have  lain  there,  with 
their  sails  as  awnings,  at  anchor  off  the  city  he  had 
builded.  His  citizens  would  have  made  those 
islands  another  Venice,  another  Athens,  a  glorious 
city,  a  city  of  noble  life  and  law.  All  that  was 
in  his  imagination  might  have  existed,  he  thought. 
All  the  splendour  should  have  come  in  praise  of 
her.  Nothing  would  have  stopped  him.  In  his 
heart  her  face  would  have  flowered,  that  beautiful, 
pale  face,  the  image  of  the  woman  he  loved  ;  he 
would  have  made  his  city  glorious.  Marble  bridges 
should  have  spanned  the  channels.  His  empire 
would  have  spread.  It  would  have  spread  over  the 
sea  there,  over  the  keys,  over  the  low  coast  fringed 
with  mangroves,  over  the  hills,  dim  in  the  south, 
over  the  crags  where  the  clouds  streamed,  beyond 
the  great  bay,  far  into  the  south,  past  Garachina, 
past  Tumbez,  beyond  Ylo  to  the  Evangelists.  He 
would  have  been  a  king.  His  ships  would  have 
scented  all  the  seas  of  the  world,  bringing  balms 
and  spice  home.  Now  all  that  was  over,  he  saw 
what  might  have  been.  It  would  not  now  be. 
He  had  no  wish  now  to  see  his  city  rise.  He 
found  his  imagination  dulled.  The  woman  who 
had  been  his  imagination,  through  whom,  alone,  he 
had  lived  imaginatively,  walked,  a  tired  shadow, 
with  heavy  eyes,  in  the  ship  beyond  the  reef.  If  he 
passed  her  she  shuddered,  averting  her  eyes.  If 
he  spoke  to  her — twice  he  had  tried  to  speak 
to  her — she  drew  in  her  breath,  her  eyes  shut ;  she 
drew  away  from  him  as  from  a  snake.  He  had  no 
heart  left  to  think  of  cities.  All  that  he  wished 
now  was  to  do  what  he  could  for  the  merchants  who 
had   risked  their  money.     The   city   would  have 

293 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

to  wait  till  the  other  lover  came.  The  city  would 
rise  up  glorious  from  the  beauty  of  some  other 
woman.  All  his  love,  and  high  resolve,  and  noble 
effort  had  come  to  this,  that  Olivia  thought  him 
something  lower  than  Stukeley,  something  baser 
than  the  beasts. 

He  walked  with  Cammock  to  the  island's  eastern 
end,  where  a  rocky  hillock  stood  out  from  the 
trees.  He  saw  that  a  fort  there  would  command 
the  channel.  Six  of  his  long-range  guns  planted 
there  under  cover  would  be  enough  to  defend  the 
anchorage  against  any  probable  attack  from 
guarda-costas.  He  drew  a  sketch-plan  for  a 
small  redoubt,  and  ordered  half  his  crew  ashore  to 
begin  the  clearing  of  the  ground.  He  would  have 
a  wall  of  unmortared  stones,  backed  by  gabions, 
leaving  embrasures  for  the  six  cannon.  The  out- 
side of  the  fort  would  be  covered  with  earth  and 
sand,  so  that  from  a  little  distance  it  would  look  like 
a  natural  hillock.  He  caused  a  dozen  men  to  cut 
down  bejuco  cane,  and  to  plait  it,  while  green,  into 
wattle  for  the  gabions.  An  Indian  prince  came  to 
him  from  the  Main  that  afternoon.  He  enter- 
tained him  with  ceremony,  giving  gifts  of  beads 
and  petticoats,  with  the  result  that,  the  next  morn- 
ing, there  were  fifty  natives  on  the  key  helping  in 
the  clearing  of  the  ground.  They,  too,  were  bribed 
by  beads.  They  were  kindly,  intelligent  fellows, 
accustomed  to  be  reckoned  as  the  equals  of  white 
men,  so  that  Cammock,  superintending  the  work, 
had  to  watch  his  hands,  lest  they  should  treat  their 
guests,  in  the  English  style,  as  niggers.  The  fort, 
such  as  it  was,  was  finished  on  the  third  day.  Its 
outer   face    showed    from    the    sea   like  a  sloping 

294 


The  LANDFALL 

hillock,  which  in  a  few  days  would  be  again  green 
with  creepers.  Within  the  wall  of  gabions,  backed 
by  wattle-bound  piles,  was  a  gun  platform,  with 
dry  powder  storerooms  twenty  feet  behind  each 
gun.  The  guns  were  mounted  on  iron  carriages, 
and  so  arranged  that  each  of  the  six  could  play 
across  some  ninety  degrees  of  the  compass.  A  roof 
of  felt  was  rigged  over  each  gun,  to  protect  the 
gunners  in  the  rains.  Margaret  wished  to  hoist 
the  colours  over  the  fort  ;  but  Perrin  begged  that 
the  new  republic  might  be  spared,  at  any  rate  till  it 
was  worth  appropriating.  Cammock  advised  him 
to  refrain,  lest  the  buccaneers  should  suspect  him  of 
playing  for  the  hand  of  the  Crown.  So  no  flag  was 
hoisted  ;  though  within  the  fort,  daily,  military 
sentries  paced,  firing  a  gun  at  dawn  and  sunset. 

While  the  fort  was  in  building  some  of  the 
Indians  cleared  a  space  among  the  wood.  In  the 
clearing  they  built  a  great  house  for  the  workers  : 
a  thatched  house  twelve  feet  high,  with  wattle  walls 
made  rainproof.  The  uprights  supported  the  ham- 
mocks at  night.  Those  who  slept  ashore  built 
always  a  fire  of  aromatic  leaves  in  the  house's 
centre.  Before  turning  in  they  sprinkled  this  with 
water  to  make  a  smoke.  Those  who  woke  in  the 
night  smelt  the  sweet,  strong  smoke  which  made 
their  eyes  smart,  and  heard  without  the  never- 
ceasing  march  of  the  surf,  the  drone  of  the  dew- 
flies,  and  the  drowsy  twang  of  the  mosquitoes, 
plagued  by  the  smoke. 

Captain  Tucket  returned  after  some  days  with  a 
sample  of  logwood  and  a  consort.  The  consort 
was  that  Captain  Pain  who  afterwards  made  such  a 
stir  in  the  Western  Gulf     He  was  a  prosperous 

295 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

captain  even  then.  His  ship  was  a  fine  French- 
built  vessel  of  great  beauty.  His  crew  numbered 
ninety-seven  hands,  the  very  flower  of  the  trade. 
He  seemed  suspicious  of  Margaret,  who  opened  a 
trade  with  him  on  liberal  terms.  The  privateers 
bought  arms  and  clothes,  paying  for  them  with 
silver  and  gold  ;  but  there  was  constraint  on  both 
sides.  The  privateers  were  suspicious.  At  dinner 
in  the  trade-room  Captain  Pain  gave  voice  to  his 
suspicions. 

'  You're  a  gentleman,'  he  said.  '  I  don't  know 
what  you  want  out  here.' 

'  Well,'  said  Margaret,  *  I've  already  told  you. 
I've  a  scheme  for  breaking  the  Spanish  power  here. 
But  before  I  take  any  violent  action  I  wish  to  try 
once  again  to  establish  a  trade  on  ordinary,  peace- 
ful, European  lines.  There  is  no  reason  why  they 
shouldn't  trade.' 

'  And  if  they  do,'  said  Pain,  '  where  do  we  come 
in?* 

'  You  will  be  my  partner,  I  hope,'  said  Margaret. 
'  We  will  have  all  these  islands  laid  out  in  vanillas, 
cacao,  indigo,  anatta,  cochineal,  everything.  All 
the  Isthmus  there  will  be  our  estate.  We  shall 
trade  with  the  Spaniards  and  the  whole  of  Europe.' 

*  Very  nice,  too,'  said  Pain.  *  But  if  the  Spaniards 
won't  trade  ? ' 

'  Then  we  shall  declare  that  they've  no  right 
here,  and  that  we,  in  the  name  of  the  rest  of  the 
world,  have  a  right  to  assist  the  rightful  owners  of 
the  country,  who  wish  us  to  trade.' 

*  And  then  a  governor  '11  come,  and  stop  our 
going  on  the  account,'  said  Pain. 

'  Yes.     But   if  he   does,'  said    Margaret,   '  you 
296 


The   LANDFALL 

must  see  that  with  the  Isthmus  in  your  hands 
you'll  be  better  off  than  you  are  now.  What  do 
you  do  now  ?  You  pick  up  a  boatful  of  sugar 
once  a  month,  and  share  a  crown  a  man.  Then 
you  run  short  of  food  and  go  to  Toro  for  turtle.' 
'  That's  it,  Pete,'  said  Cammock. 

*  Your  scheme's  very  pretty,'  Pain  said.  *  But 
you're  a  gentleman.  I  ain't  a  gentleman  myself, 
thank  God,  and  I  don't  know  what  your  game  is. 
You're  either  a  bit  off  your  biscuit,  or  you're  in 
with  the  Government.     That's  my  candid  opinion.' 

'  All  right,'  said  Margaret.  '  We  won't  go  into 
that.' 

At  this  moment  Stukeley  entered,  a  little  flown 
with  rum,  from  the  ward-room  dinner. 

'  Hello,  Maggy,'  he  said.  '  I've  come  to  talk 
with  Captain  Pain  here.  Your  servant,  captain.  I 
suppose  these  twisters  here  have  been  talking  about 
and  about  it.  Eh  }  They  make  a  man  sick,  I  say. 
Eh  ?  Hold  your  tongue,  Maggy.  Wait  till  you're 
spoken  to.  I've  got  something  to  say.  The  men 
of  war — my  friends  in  the  'tween-decks  there — 
they've  been  talking  with  me  while  you've  been 
talking  here.  You  talk  all  day,  and  leave  off  just 
where  you  were.' 

^  And  what  have  you  done  } '  said  Perrin. 

'  I'm  not  addressing  you,  Pilly.' 

*  Do  you  come  as  the  spokesman  of  the  men  of 
war  ? '  Margaret  asked. 

'  Yes,  I  do,  my  little  Maggy.' 
'  Gamage  is  a  shy,  retiring  soul,'  Perrin  said. 
'  He  isn't  a  little  crawler,  anyway.' 
'  Well,'  Cammock  said,  '  let's  have  the  message. 
Here's  Captain  Pete  waiting  on  us.' 

297 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Right/  Stukeley  said,  sitting  down  at  the  table. 
'  Then  I'm  to  tell  you  that  the  men  of  war  want  to 
know  when  they're  going  to  have  what  they  came 
for.  They're  sick  of  doing  sentry-go  in  the  ant- 
heap  yonder.     They  signed  for  a  roving  life.' 

'They  signed  to  obey  our  orders,'  Cammock 
said.  'They'll  get  all  the  roving  they've  a  need 
for  soon  enough.' 

'  So  they  say,'  Stukeley  answered.  '  If  you 
don't  give  it  them  they'll  take  it,  and  half  your 
crew  besides.' 

'  I'll  look  after  my  crew,'  Cammock  said. 

'  Not  with  Captain  Tucket  and  Captain  Pain 
here,'  said  Stukeley,  grinning.  '  You  see.  If  you 
cut  up  nasty,  Cammock.  Why.  You've  a  very 
good  ship,  and  a  lot  of  useful  weapons  in  your 
hold.  Long  eighteens.  Eh  }  Carry  a  mile  and  a 
quarter.  What's  to  stop  us  putting  you  ashore.  Eh  V 

'That's  what  we  did  to  the  Frenchman,'  Cam- 
mock said.     '  D'you  remember,  Pete  } ' 

'  At  the  Isla  Vache,'  said  Pain,  looking  down 
modestly.     '  I  remember.' 

He  spoke  with  such  a  strange  inflection  that  none 
there  could  guess  his  meaning,  though  all  looked  at 
him  curiously.  He  turned  to  Stukeley  with  atten- 
tion, as  though  expecting  something  more. 

'So,'  Stukeley  continued,  'your  humble  ser- 
vants of  the  'tween-decks  ask  that  you  will  give 
them  a  brush.     Or ' 

'  Or  what  1 ' 

'They'll  ask  Captain  Pain  here  to  find  them 
hammock-space.' 

Captain  Pain  seemed  to  search  Stukeley's  face 
for  something  further. 

298 


The   LANDFALL 

'  You  seem  determined  to  put  me  in  a  queer 
position,  mister/  he  said.  *  But  come  now,  Mr. 
Margaret.  What's  wrong  with  having  a  go  at 
Tolu  }  We've  a  hundred  and  ninety  men.  Why 
not  .? ' 

*  1  must  trade,  or  try  to  trade.  Fve  told  you. 
I'm  a  merchant.' 

'  Quite  right,  sir,'  said  Tucket.  *  I'm  a  merchant, 
too.     I'd  be  only  too  glad  to  trade.' 

'  They  won't  let  you,'  said  Stukeley.  '  So  why 
not  look  at  the  position  honestly.' 

'  Well.  Trade.  Try  it,'  said  Pain.  *  If  you 
try  it,  you'll  get  a  sickener.  Then  you'll  fight  all 
the  better,  after.' 

*  They  used  to  trade,'  said  Cammock.  *  I've 
known  a  lot  of  interloping  done.  At  Maracaibo 
they  traded.' 

'  They  won't  now,'  Pain  said.  *  Any  man  caught 
trading  without  the  King's  licence  is  up  for  the 
everlasting  prison  remediless.  You  don't  believe 
me.     You  try.' 

*  I  shall  try,'  Margaret  said. 

*  Right  O,'  said  Pain.  *  Then  we'll  sail  to-morrow. 
Our  two  ships  will  keep  out  of  sight  of  land.  We 
could  lie  by  among  them  Bernadoes.  You  can 
send  in  samples  with  your  interpreter  in  Captain 
Tucket's  sloop.  If  they  see  a  big  ship  standing  in 
they'll  fire  at  her.  So  send  the  sloop.  They'll  not 
listen  to  you.  They'll  likely  fire  at  the  sloop.  So 
the  next  morning  we'll  land  and  take  the  town. 
There's  twenty  pound  a  man  in  Tolu.     Silver.' 

Cammock,  to  give  Margaret  the  cue,  for  he 
knew  that  Pain  held  the  whip  hand,  said  that  he 
approved.     '  That  sounds  like  business,'  he   said. 

299 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  This  is  Tolu,  Captain  Margaret/  He  pulled  out 
a  quarto  pocket-book  containing  elaborate  charts  of 
many  places  on  the  Main.  The  book  had  been  the 
work  of  many  days,  and  of  many  hands,  for  some 
of  the  charts  had  been  copied,  some  made  on  the 
spot,  some  taken  in  fight,  others  bought,  or  drawn 
from  hearsay,  or  bequeathed.  It  contained  manu- 
script notes  worth  a  lot  of  money  to  a  good  many 
people.  'This  is  Tolu,  sir.  In  Morrosquillo  Gulf 
here.  This  long  beach  runs  twenty  miles.  It's 
all  hard  sand,  shelving,  and  shallowish  water  in  the 
gulf.  Then  back  of  the  town  there's  forest.  But 
all  very  flat  land,  as  far  as  Cispata.  Ain't  that  so, 
Pete  .? ' 

*  Flat  as  your  palm.  Them's  nice  maps  you  got, 
Lion.' 

'  Yes.  I  got  some  nice  ones  of  these  here 
islands.  Every  anchorage  and  spring  marked. 
Basil  done  them.  You  remember  Basil,  Pete.  He 
was  a  very  good  drawrer.' 

'  Doctor  Basil  ?  Yes.  He  drawed  a  tooth  of 
mine  once.' 

'  Ah  }  Now  as  for  Tolu,  Captain  Margaret. 
It's  a  walled  town.  But  the  only  guns  are  in  the 
sea-wall.  And  the  wall  ain't  much  more  than 
gabions.  Not  much  stone  about  it.  If  it  comes 
to  fighting,  we'll  land  on  the  beach  away  south  here, 
and  creep  up,  wading,  along  the  beach,  so  as  to 
arrive  about  dawn.' 

'Well,  Captain  Pain,'  said  Margaret.  'We'll 
sail  to-morrow.     We'll  see  which  of  us  is  right.' 

He  smiled  pleasantly  ;  but  his  thoughts  were 
bitter.  He  saw  that  to  succeed  on  the  Main  one 
needed  to  be  one  of  the  crowd.     Pain  there,  the 

300 


The   LANDFALL 

inscrutable,  pale  man,  had  long  ago  decided  how  to 
use  him.  He,  a  cultured  gentleman,  with  a  King's 
commission,  was  in  Pain's  hands.  He  must  either 
go  with  Pain,  or  lose  his  crew.  His  crew  would 
follow  Pain  at  a  nod.  If  he  tried  to  coerce  either 
Pain  or  his  crew,  he  saw  that  there  would  be  trouble. 
The  Bro\en  Heart  would  be  taken  from  him.  He 
had  not  thought  of  this  chance  ;  but  he  remembered  a 
word  of  Cammock's  : '  Give  them  some  little  success, 
and  they'll  do  anything.'  If  this  trading  venture 
prospered,  he  could  proceed  to  Jamaica,  he  could 
come  to  some  treaty  with  the  Spaniards,  pledging 
himself  to  put  down  privateering.  If  the  trading 
venture  failed,  then  it  would  rest  with  him  to  make 
a  conquest  of  the  Indies,  to  gather  all  these  thieves 
into  a  company,  and  strike  at  Spain  till  she  tottered. 
After  Tolu,  and  Tolu  would  have  to  be  a  success, 
he  would  lead  them  against  Cartagena.  Then  he 
might  be  able  to  make  a  head.  At  present  he  was 
a  '  new  standard.'  He  understood  Pain's  point  of 
view.  He  knew  that  he  must  appear  to  Pain  as  an 
uppish  youth  who  thought  that  he  knew  more  than 
old  hands.  He  would  show  them  that  he  did 
know  more. 

'  By  the  way,  Pete,'  Cammock  said,  ^  what  come 
of  George  Bond  ? ' 

Pete  laughed.  '  Oh,  him,'  he  said.  '  He  went 
to  Portobel,  and  joined  the  Spaniards.' 

^  How  did  the  Spaniards  treat  him  } '  Perrin 
asked.  He  had  heard  of  that  wild  spirit  from 
Cammock. 

*  Dunno,*  said  Pain  carelessly.  *  Give  him  a 
position  in  the  Government,  I  heard.'  He  turned 
to  Cammock.     ^One  of  Bill  Knight's  lot  was  in 

301 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Panama  a  year  ago,'  he  continued.     '  He  said  he 
was  got  to  be  a  big  one  there.' 

'Ah  .?'  said  Cammock.  'Well.  It's  right,  too. 
There's  very  good  openings  for  a  man  in  a  Spanish 
town  here.' 

'  Indeed,'  said  Margaret.  '  I  should  have  thought 
there  was  bitter  feeling.' 

'  Not  a  bit  of  it,  sir.  There's  only  the  religious 
trouble.' 

'  That  didn't  worry  George  much,'  Pete  said. 

After  this  the  conversation  died  down,  till  Stuke- 
ley  asked  if  a  herald  from  a  landing  party  ran  risk 
of  being  shot. 

'  No,'  said  Pain.  '  I  done  it  two  or  three  times. 
You  go  ashore  under  a  white  flag,  holding  up  your 
hands,  and  then  they  come  and  blindfold  you,  and 
take  you  into  the  town.  Then  you  say  your  piece 
to  the  Governor,  and  then  you  come  back.' 

'Then,'  said  Stukeley,  'you'd  better  prime  me 
now  in  what  you  want  said,  Maggy.  I  must  have 
a  set  speech  ready  for  anything  the  old  cove 
asks  me.' 

'  That's  quite  true.  I'm  glad  you  reminded  me. 
We'll  go  into  it.  To-morrow  morning,  then. 
Captain  Pain.  But  I  wish  you  could  have  waited 
till  my  ship  was  scrubbed.' 

'Time  enough,  Mr.  Margaret,'  Pain  answered. 
'  We'll  careen  her  when  we  come  back.' 

He  went  on  deck  with  Cammock,  leaving  Mar- 
garet to  instruct  Stukeley  in  the  matter  of  his 
speech  to  the  Spanish  Governor.  One  speech, 
which  ran,  '  Your  Excellency,  I  hold  my  King's 
commission.  If  you  permit  me  to  trade  here  I 
pledge  my  honour  to  assist  your  King  against  his 

302 


The   LANDFALL 

enemies  in  these  seas,'  seemed  to  Stukeley  to  be  a 
pleasant  jest.  He  repeated  it,  grinning,  till  he  had 
it  letter  perfect.  Then  he  repeated  it  in  Spanish, 
and  left  the  cabin,  laughing. 

*  Come  back  here  a  moment,  Stukeley,'  Margaret 
called.     ^  I've  got  something  I  want  to  say  to  you.' 

'  What  now  .'' '  Stukeley  answered. 

^Stukeley,'  he  said,  'we're  going  on  a  dangerous 
business  to-morrow.  I  want  you  before  we  leave 
the  ship  to  see  your  wife.  Will  you  do  that  ^  I 
don't  want  to  preach.  I  only  ask  you  to  realize 
what  it  might  be  to  her  if  anything  happened  to 
you.' 

'  I'll  manage  my  own  relations  with  my  wife,'  he 
answered. 

'  Stukeley,  she's  a  long  way  from  friends.  Life 
isn't  very  sweet  to  her.' 

'  I'll  make  it  a  good  deal  sourer  if  you  come 
crawling  round.  Well,  I'll  see  her.  Now  then. 
No  more.     Good  night.  Captain  Maggy.' 

The  door  slammed  behind  him  with  a  clatter  of 
swinging  hooks.  Margaret  was  alone,  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  with  his  world  tottering  about 
him,  ready  to  fall. 


303 


XI 

The   FLAG    OF   TRUCE 

*  Was  it  not  sin  enough,  and  wickedness, 
Thus  like  a  rotten  rascal  to  abuse 
The  name  of  Heav'n,  the  tie  of  marriage. 
The  honour  of  thy  friends,  the  expectation, 
Of  all  that  thought  thee  virtuous,  with  rebellion, 
After  forgiveness,  too  ?  * 

The  Womans  Prize 

TN  the  morning,  when  they  were  under  way,  with 
the  two  little  hills  of  Pinos  astern  of  them, 
and  the  ship's  bows  turned  towards  Morrosquillo, 
far  to  the  east,  still  two  days  distant.  Captain 
Margaret  sent  Perrin  to  the  cabin  to  request  an 
audience  with  Olivia.  As  he  had  feared,  she 
refused  to  see  him.  She  sat,  pale  and  exhausted, 
at  the  table,  Perrin  said,  too  weary  of  life  to  ask 
whither  they  were  bound,  or  to  ask  the  nature  of 
their  consorts,  now  sailing  easily,  under  reduced 
sail,  near  the  lumbering  Bro\en  Hearty  foul  with 
long  weeks  at  sea.  She  did  not  care  what  hap- 
pened ;  but,  finding  Perrin  importunate,  she  left 
the  cabin,  and  for  two  days  saw  no  one.  On  the 
second  day  the  ships  anchored  between  Ceycen  and 
the  Overfalls,  in  a  harbour  shut  away  by  wooded 
keys,  from  which  the  brooks  fell  pleasantly,  with  a 
rippling  chatter,  that  was  drowsy  and  delight- 
some, after  the  glare  of  the  sun  on  the  sea, 
in  the  hot  calms.  They  loaded  the  sloop  with 
samples    during    the    afternoon,    and    chose    out 

304 


The   FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

hands  to  go  in  her.  Stukeley  was  to  go  as  herald 
and  interpreter,  Margaret  as  principal,  in  case  the 
matter  came  to  a  conference  ;  while  as  crew  they 
picked  ten  from  the  BroJ^en  Hearty  five  from  Pain, 
five  from  Tucket,  all  good  shots,  well  armed. 
Perrin  was  to  stay  aboard  with  Cammock,  so  that 
Olivia  might  have  a  friend  aboard,  in  case  the 
sloop  was  lost. 

After  breakfast,  Margaret  made  a  last  attempt  to 
speak  with  her.  He  entered  the  cabin  unan- 
nounced, to  find  her  sitting  there,  in  a  black  gown, 
a  Bible  before  her,  and  her  face  all  pale,  her  eyes 
with  dark  rings  round  them.  She  looked  up  as  he 
entered,  then  sank  back,  closing  her  eyes,  with  a 
sharp  intake  of  her  breath. 

*  What  do  you  want  with  me  ^ '  she  asked  in  a 
hard  voice.     '  Have  you  come  to  see  if — if ' 

*  Olivia,*  he  answered,  *  I've  come  to  tell  you 
that  I'm  going  to  a  town,  now.  There's  danger. 
I'm  going  with.  I  mean.  Your  husband  is  com- 
ing. It's  a  dangerous  service.  I  want  you  to  try 
to  realize,  that.  That  your  husband's  going  on  a 
dangerous  service.  That  you  might  like  to  see 
him.' 

*Yes,'  she  answered.  ^That  I  might  like  to 
see  him.     Go  on.* 

'That  is  all,'  he  said.  'Except  that  I  may  not 
see  you  again.  That  I  wouldn't  like.'  The  words 
dragged  ;  his  mouth  was  quite  dry.  He  stumbled 
in  his  speech  and  began  again. 

'  Olivia,'  he  said.  '  My  conduct.  I  thought 
I  acted  for  the  best.     I  ask  you  to  forgve  me.' 

'  Forgive  you  } '  she  said.  '  Thank  you.  But 
I've  no  wish  to.  You  lied  to  me  from  the 
X  30s 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

moment  I  came  into  the  ship.  You  lied  at  Sal- 
combe.  At  Falmouth.  All  the  voyage.  In  Vir- 
ginia. And  then  you  thought  you  had  lied  enough 
for  your  purpose.  You  let  me  learn  the  truth.' 
'  Yes,'  he  answered,  '  I  lied.  I  lied  to  save  you.' 
'  Ah,'  she  said,  with  disgust.  *  You  lied  to  save 
me,  till  it  was  too  late  for  me  to  hear  the  truth.' 

*  Olivia,'  he  continued,  ^  I  won't  speak  more  of 
myself.  Your  husband.  I  think  he  wants.  He 
wants  to  see  you.  There  may  be  danger.  He 
wants  to  see  you.  He  wants  to  say  good-bye. 
I  am  going  now,'  he  added.  '  Olivia,  we've  been 
in  each  other's  lives  a  long  time.  Could  you. 
Could  you  let  this.'  He  stumbled  in  his  speech 
again.  She  did  not  help  him.  His  throat  was 
dry  like  a  kiln  ;  he  seemed  unable  to  speak.  '  I 
am  going  now,'  he  said  again.  '  I'll  send  your 
husband  to  you.'  He  bowed,  and  left  the  cabin. 
As  he  closed  the  door  he  thought  that  he  could 
not  remember  his  last  sight  of  her.  He  could 
not  remember  her  face  as  it  had  last  looked  upon 
him. 

In  the  alleyway  he  met  Stukeley  coming  from 
Cammock's  state-room. 

*  I  was  looking  for  you,'  said  Stukeley.  '  We're 
waiting  for  you.     It's  time  we  went.' 

^  Your  wife's  in  the  cabin,'  he  answered.  '  She's 
waiting  for  you.  To  say  good-bye.'  As  he  spoke, 
the  cabin  door  opened,  and  Olivia  came  out  into 
the  alleyway. 

'  Tom,'  she  said,  '  where  are  you  going  with  this 
man  } ' 

'Hello,  Livy,'  he  answered.  'I'm  just  going 
ashore,  to  interview  the  Spaniards.' 

306 


The   FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

*  He  says  that  there  is  danger.' 

*  Danger  ?  Rubbish.  You  ass,  Maggy.  Why 
can't  you  keep  your  head  shut } ' 

'  Oh.     So  perhaps  he  lied  again.' 

*  ril  leave  you,'  Margaret  said,  turning  away. 

*  No.  Do  not  go,'  she  answered.  '  I've  some- 
thing to  say  to  you,  Tom.  I  want  you  to  hear  it, 
Charles.  Tom,  there's  danger  in  going  ashore 
here.  Oh,  I  know  it.  I  know  it.  Tom,  dear, 
since  we  came  here  there's  been  something  between 
us  always.  Ever  since.  Tom,  dear,  you  were 
afraid  that  I  should  be  angry.  Unforgiving.  You 
might  have  trusted  me,  Tom.  You  were  afraid 
I  should  hate  you.  I  wasn't  very  wise.  It  was  so 
sudden.  And  I  wasn't  myself,  Tom.  It's  not  too 
late,  dear.  Don't  let  it  be  too  late,  Tom.'  She 
paused,  looking  to  her  husband  for  the  answer 
she  had  put  into  his  mouth.  Stukeley  found  it 
hard  to  answer.  *  Oh,  Tom,  I  want  you  back.  I 
want  you  back.' 

*  There,  Livy,'  Stukeley  said.  ^  There,  Livy.' 
He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  '  When 
I  come  back,  dear,'  he  added.  '  I  must  go  now. 
I'm  going  ashore.' 

*  Don't  go,  Tom.  Oh,  Tom,  don't  go.  There's 
danger.     You  may  be  hurt.     Charles,  tell  him.' 

'  It's  all  right,  old  girl.  They  all  swore  there's 
not  the  slightest  danger.  We  shall  be  back  by  four 
o'clock  if  the  wind  holds.' 

'There's  danger,'  Margaret  said. 

'  Tom,  you  wouldn't  leave  me  at  a  moment  like 
this.' 

'  I  must,  Livy.'  A  thought  seemed  to  strike  him. 
*  Look  here,  Livy.     It  must  be  our  first  step  to 

307 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

— to  our  new  life  together.  To  a  new  life  out 
here.' 

'Tom,  my  darling,  are  you  sure  there's  no 
danger  ? ' 

'  There  is  no  danger.  None.  How  many  more 
times  }  * 

'  Charles,*  she  said,  '  come  here.  I've  been. 
Been.  Not  myself.  I  spoke  cruelly.  I  want  you 
to  forgive  me,  Charles.  Take  my  hand.  And 
yours,  Tom.  This  is  going  to  be  the  beginning  of 
a  new  life  together.  Will  you  let  it  be  that,  Charles  } 
You  will,  Tom  ^ ' 

'  Yes,'  said  Tom. 

'  It  shall  be  that,'  Margaret  said.  They  shook 
hands  in  the  alleyway,  making  their  bonds  of  peace. 

*  You're  my  Tom  again  now,'  she  said  lowly. 
*■  I've  forgotten  all  the  rest,  dear.' 

'  Right,'  he  said,  kissing  her.  '  I  was  a  beast. 
Good-bye,  dear.' 

'  Not  a  beast,'  she  said.     *  Never  that.' 

Margaret  turned  aside,  crushing  his  hat-brim, 
wondering  what  new  misery  was  in  store  for 
her.  He  walked  softly  out  on  deck,  leaving  the 
two  to  their  farewell.  Perrin  said  something  to 
him.  Cammock  was  not  in  sight.  A  little  knot  of 
men  stood  in  the  waist,  idly  watching  the  sloop. 

Presently  Stukeley  came  from  the  alleyway  with 
a  grin  upon  his  face.  'Anything  for  a  quiet  life,' 
he  said.    '  Down  into  the  boat  with  you,  Maggy.' 

As  they  shoved  off  from  the  Bro\en  Hearty  Olivia 
waved  to  them  from  her  state-room  port.  Mar- 
garet felt  a  pang  of  remorse  that  he  had  not  shaken 
hands  with  Perrin,  nor  spoken  with  Cammock, 
before  leaving  the  ship.     He  was  nearly  alongside 

308 


The  FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

the  sloop  when  he  saw  Cammock*s  hat  above  the 
poop  nettings. 

*  He's  hailing  you,  Captain  Margaret/  said  the 
stroke  oar. 

'  Oars  a  moment.'  The  men  lay  on  their  oars, 
watching  the  drops  fall  from  the  blades  into  the  sea. 
The  roar  of  Cammock  sounded. 

*  What  does  he  say  } '  said  Margaret.  '  I  can't 
make  out.' 

'  Something  about  a  map,  I  think  he  said, 
sir.' 

'  Did  you  hear,  Stukeley  ? ' 

^  Map  or  tap,  or  something.  But  let's  go  on. 
We're  late.' 

'  No.  I  must  hear.  Back  a  stroke,  port  oars. 
Way,  starboard.  I'll  pull  back  to  find  out.  Way 
together.' 

Fifty  yards  nearer  to  the  ship  they  again  lay  on 
their  oars.     This  time  the  hail  was  clear. 

'  Have  you  seen  my  book  of  maps  ? ' 

'  No,'  Margaret  shouted.  *  You  had  it  in  your 
pocket  last  night.' 

*  What's  that  you  say  } ' 

'  You  had  it  in  your  pocket  last  night.* 

'  Yes.     But  1  can't  find  it.' 

'  I've  not  had  it.  Ask  Mr.  Perrin.'  He  sat 
down  in  his  seat,  Cammock  shouted  a  farewell,  to 
which  Margaret  raised  his  hand  in  salute. 

*  He's  lost  his  book  of  maps,'  said  Margaret  to 
Stukeley. 

'  Nothing  can  be  lost  in  a  ship,'  said  Stukeley. 
'  Besides,  what's  a  book  of  maps  ? ' 

'  That  book  was  worth  a  good  deal.  The  Span- 
iards would    pay  a    high    price   for  it.     With   all 

309 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

those  charts  to  help  them,  they  could  put  down 
privateering  when  they  pleased.' 

'  Oh,  rubbish,'  said  Stukeley,  swinging  himself  up 
the  sloop's  side.     '  He  could  easy  get  duplicates.' 

The  sloop  was  already  under  sail.  The  men 
climbed  aboard,  and  let  the  boat  drag  astern.  The 
helm  was  put  up  a  little,  the  fore  sheet  was  let 
draw.  Soon,  as  the  boom  swung  over,  straining 
the  blocks,  when  the  mainsail  filled,  they  slipped 
clear  of  the  anchorage.  Looking  over  the  rail, 
they  saw  the  nettings  of  the  two  ships  lined  with 
men,  some  of  whom  waved  caps  in  farewell. 

Captain  Tucket  came  to  command  his  sloop. 
He  talked  little  ;  for  he  was  trying  a  new  dye. 
He  was  boiling  a  handkerchief  in  a  pan  of  herbs, 
over  a  little  brazier  fixed  on  the  deck.  The  experi- 
ment made  him  silent ;  but  in  moments  of  enthu- 
siasm he  spoke  a  few  words,  stirring  the  mess  with 
a  fid. 

'  What  colour  are  you  trying  to  get  ^ '  Margaret 
asked. 

'One  of  them  bright  greens  the  Indians  get.' 

*"  You  never  will,  cap,'  said  the  helmsman. 
'Them  Indians  use  moss;  a  kind  of  tree  moss. 
I've  seed  'em  do  it.' 

'Well,  if  this  don't  turn  out  a  green,  I'll  wash 
in  it.' 

'  What's  the  matter,  Stukeley  }  Is  anything  the 
matter  ? '  Stukeley  had  burst  out  laughing  without 
apparent  reason. 

'  Nothing's  the  matter,'  Stukeley  answered.  '  1 
was  thinking  of  my  interview  with  the  Governor.' 

It  was  high  noon  when  they  arrived  at  Tolu 
Road.     They  hoisted  a  white  flag,  and  stood  in 

310 


The   FLAG   OF    TRUCE 

boldly  till  they  were  a  mile  to  the  south-west  of  the 
town.  Here  the  sloop  was  hove-to,  while  the  men 
prepared  for  their  journey.  The  six  oarsmen  of 
the  whale-boat  stuffed  loaded  pistols  within  their 
shirts,  and  laid  their  muskets  in  oilskin  cases 
below  the  thwarts.  Margaret  and  Stukeley  sat  in 
the  sternsheets,  both  wearing  their  swords. 
Tucket,  who  steered  with  an  oar,  was  armed  with 
pistols.  A  flag  of  truce  was  hoisted  in  the  boat. 
Tucket  told  his  mate  to  keep  a  sharp  look  out  in 
the  sloop,  and  to  run  in  to  pick  them  up  *  if  any- 
thing happened.'  Then  the  little  lugsail  was 
hoisted,  and  the  boat  began  to  move  towards  the 
town. 

Margaret  was  disappointed  with  himself  as  the 
boat  crept  on  towards  the  town.  He  had  so  often 
lived  over  this  adventure  in  his  fancy  that  the 
reality  seemed  tame  to  him.  He  was  disappointed 
with  the  look  of  the  city  ;  it  seemed  but  a  mean 
place  ;  a  church,  a  fort,  a  few  stone  houses,  a  gleam 
of  red  pantiles  against  the  forest,  and  a  mud  wall 
ringing  it  in.  The  bell  tinkled  in  the  belfry, 
tinkled  continually,  jerked  by  a  negro  who  had  had 
no  orders  to  stop.  It  seemed  to  Margaret  that  a 
bell  was  out  of  place  in  that  half-savage  town.  It 
was  not  a  Christian  town.  Those  were  not  Chris- 
tians on  the  beach.  They  were  Indians,  negroes, 
convicts,  runaways,  half-breeds.  They  needed 
some  bloodier  temple  than  that  old  church  in  the 
square.  They  needed  a  space  in  the  forest,  lit  by 
fires  in  the  night.  They  needed  the  reek  of  sacri- 
fice and  the  clang  of  gongs.  And  this  was  the 
place  he  had  sailed  to.  Here  his  life's  venture  was 
to  be  put  to  the  touch.     Here,  in  this  place,  this 

311 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

little  old  squalid  city  between  the  sea  and  the 
jungle.  All  the  long  anxieties  were  to  be  resolved 
there.  There  on  the  sand,  beyond  the  spume  of 
the  breakers,  the  doubts  were  to  end.  He  could 
not  bring  himself  to  care.  His  thoughts  ran  on  the 
pale  face  of  Olivia,  on  her  words  to  him,  on  the 
possibility  of  a  new  life  for  her. 

*  Stukeley,'  he  said,  speaking  very  quietly  in  his 
hearer's  ear,  '  look  here.  I  want  to  say  this. 
After  this  business,  if  you  care,  would  you  like  to 
settle  in  Jamaica  or  somewhere  }  Or  in  France  } 
You  and  Olivia  }  You  could  draw  on  me,  you 
know.     We  could  start  something  together.' 

Stukeley  seemed  to  measure  the  distance  between 
the  boat  and  the  shore.  He  looked  at  Margaret 
with  a  gleam  of  humour  in  his  eyes. 

'  Thanks,'  he  said.     '  I'll  think  it  over.' 

*  Very  well,'  Margaret  said.  '  There  comes  the 
captain.  What  strange  little  horses.  Are  they 
imported,  Captain  Tucket } ' 

'  No,  sir.  This  country  horses.  Imported  horses 
die  of  the  heat,  or  the  change  of  grass.  Beyond 
Carta-yaina  there's  very  good  horse  country,' 

The  rabble  on  the  beach  drew  back  now  towards 
the  town,  handling  their  arms.  Half  a  dozen 
horsemen  rode  as  though  to  meet  the  boat,  almost 
to  the  lip  of  the  sea.  One  of  them,  a  negro,  who 
held  his  stirrups  with  his  toes,  carried  a  pennon. 

'  The  lad  on  the  pinto's  the  capataz,'  said  Tucket 
in  his  beard,  ^  Stand  up  with  the  flag  in  the  bows 
there.  Down  sail.  Let  your  oars  swing  fore  and 
aft  in  their  grummets,  ready  to  back  her  off.  Wave 
your  flag  of  truce,  Ed.  Don't  shake  your  pistols 
out  though.     Stand  by.  Captain  Stukeley.' 

312 


The  FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

'  Are  they  friendly,  do  you  think  ?  * 

'  Sure; 

^  Oh,  Stukeley,'  Margaret  said.  '  This  little  case 
contains  a  ring  for  the  Governor.  Say  that  you 
trust  that  it  may  have  the  felicity  to  fit.* 

'  I  will,'  said  Stukeley.  '  They  carry  some  plate 
on  their  headstalls,  don't  they  } '  He  put  the  case 
in  his  pocket. 

The  bow  man  waved  his  flag  of  truce,  then 
lowered  it,  and  knelt,  waiting  for  the  shock  of 
the  grounding.  Very  gently,  in  the  wash  of  little 
waves  and  slipping  shingle,  the  boat's  nose 
took  the  sand.  Captain  Margaret  stepped  across 
the  thwarts,  holding  a  white  cloth  in  his  hand. 
Watching  his  time,  he  leaped  nimbly  beyond  the 
water,  and  uncovered.  Stukeley  followed  him, 
jumping  clumsily.  It  seemed  to  Margaret,  as  he 
turned  sharply,  thinking  that  the  man  had  fallen, 
that  a  book  in  Stukeley's  inner  pocket  was  surely 
Cammock's  map-book.  It  half  jolted  out  as  the 
coat  flew  open.  It  was  a  glimpse,  nothing  more. 
Perhaps  he  was  wrong.  The  two  men  stood  un- 
covered before  the  horsemen,  who  watched  them 
with  the  grave  eyes  of  animals.  An  elderly  man 
among  the  riders  rode  forward  for  a  pace  or  two, 
uncovering  with  a  gesture  full  of  dignity.  He  had 
the  bearing  of  a  soldier.  It  seemed  to  Margaret 
that  the  gesture  explained  the  might  of  Spain. 
Stukeley  advanced  towards  the  horseman  with  his 
hat  beating  against  his  knee.  He  spoke  quietly  in 
Spanish.  After  a  few  words,  the  elderly  man  dis- 
mounted, and  the  two  walked  to  and  fro  together, 
talking  with  a  grave  politeness,  which  seemed 'to  ex- 
tend to  the  listeners,  whether  they  understood  or  not. 

313 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Presently  Stukeley  bowed  very  low  to  the  cap- 
tain, and  walked  jauntily  to  Margaret.  ^  It's  all 
right,'  he  said.  ^  I  think  they'll  do  your  business 
for  you.  They're  very  friendly.  They're  going  to 
take  me  to  see  the  Governor.' 

'  Am  I  to  come  ? ' 

'  Only  one  man,  he  says.  I  may  have  to  stay  to 
dinner.' 

'  You  think  you  run  no  risk  ?  I'm  willing  to 
come  if  you  think  you  run  any.  I  ought  to 
share  it.' 

'They're  all  right.  There's  no  risk.  But  he 
offers  a  hostage.' 

'  One  of  those  cut-throats  } ' 

*It  ain't  very  polite  to  accept.  Eh  ?  I'll  go 
alone.  He  knows  you've  a  commission.  I've 
shown  him  that  duplicate.  It's  all  right.  I'll  go 
off  now.  So  long,  my  Maggy.  Con  Dios,  cabal- 
lero.     Try  and  keep  warm  on  the  sands  here.' 

He  saluted  the  boat's  crew,  gave  Margaret  a 
queer  glance,  and  rejoined  the  capataz,  who  bowed 
to  them  gravely.  The  negro  with  the  pennon  led 
the  dismounted  horse.  The  capataz  walked  with 
Stukeley,  followed  by  the  other  troopers.  They 
went  slowly  towards  the  gate  of  the  city.  The 
troopers  made  their  horses  curvet  and  passage, 
clashing  their  silver  gear.  Margaret  stood  at  the 
lip  of  the  water,  watching  them,  till  they  had 
passed  within  the  gate,  followed  by  the  rabble. 

The  boatmen  held  that  it  would  not  be  politic  to 
return  to  the  sloop.  '  It  might  seem  as  we  didn't 
trust  them,'  Tucket  said.  So  they  rigged  the  boat- 
rug  as  an  awning  over  the  sternsheets,  and  whiled 
away  the  time,  suffering  much  from  the  heat.     It 

314 


The  FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

was  a  stifling  day.  The  time  passed  slowly,  with 
many  calls  for  the  water-breaker.  They  made  their 
dinner  of  plantains,  then  smoked,  exchanging  stories, 
longing  for  Stukeley's  return.  Margaret  found 
the  time  less  irksome  than  he  had  expected  ;  for 
Tucket  began  to  talk,  out  of  a  full  heart,  about  the 
subjects  dear  to  him.  He  had  never  had  such  a 
listener  before.  Margaret  drew  him  out,  with  his 
usual  sympathy,  till  the  man*s  inmost  life  was  bare 
before  him.  Such  woods  would  take  a  polish,  and 
such  other  woods  would  take  a  stain  ;  and  such  and 
such  resins,  why  should  they  not  stain  a  wood  to  all 
colours  of  the  rainbow,  if  treated  with  care  in  the 
right  way  }  It  would  be  fine.  Captain  Tucket  said, 
to  be  a  chemist,  and  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  to 
watch  your  dye  vats  all  day  long.    Vats  of  indigo,  of 

anatta,  of  cochineal,  all  the  lovely  colours,  and 

Say.  If  one  could  get  a  green  that  showed  the 
light  in  it,  like  the  water  breaking  on  a  reef.  The 
hours  passed  ;  it  was  nearly  three  o'clock  ;  but 
still  no  Stukeley. 

*  The  Guv'nor  dines  late,  I  don't  think,'  said  one 
of  the  men. 

*  I  guess  it's  difficult  to  get  away  from  the 
donnas,'  said  another.  The  others  laughed  ;  for 
Stukeley's  faults  were  well  known. 

'  I  dunno,  sir,'  said  Tucket.  '  It  seems  a  bit 
odd.' 

*  He  seemed  very  sanguine  about  it,'  Margaret 
answered. 

'  I  ain't  much  charmed  with  your  friend,  myself,' 
said  Tucket.     *  I  don't  trust  that  Master  Stukeley.' 

'  You  don't  think  he's  deserted  ?  Is  that  your 
meaning  ? ' 

31S 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Well,  I  wouldn't  a  trusted  him  to  be  my  inter- 
preter,' Tucket  answered,  with  the  growl  of  one 
whose  superior  wisdom,  now  proved,  is  proved  too 
late.  *We  could  a  give  you  Thomas  Gandy. 
He'd  have  done  as  good.  He  knows  Spanish  just 
like  a  book,  Tom  do.  And  you  could  a  trusted 
Tom  with  your  life.  Now  you  ain't  on  too  good 
terms  with  the  Mr.  Stukeley  feller.' 

'  Shall  I  go  into  the  town,  then  }  To  see  if 
anything's  wrong  } ' 

'  Why  no,  sir.  That's  putting  your  joint  in  the 
fire  to  hot  your  soup.     Stay  here,  sir.' 

'Well,  we'll  wait  a  little  longer.  What  d'you 
say  to  bathing  } ' 

'  It's  not  really  safe,  sir.  There's  cat-fish  on  this 
coast.  Besides,  we  better  not  get  all  over  the  place 
like  shifting  backstays.  Them  Dagoes  might  come 
some  of  their  monkey-tricks.' 

'  The  town  is  quiet  enough.' 

'  Siesta  time,'  said  one  of  the  men.  *  They  likes 
a  doss  in  the  afternoon.' 

'  I  dunno  what  to  think,'  Tucket  said.  *  But 
't'ain't  too  wholesome,  to  my  mind.' 

'  He  said  he  might  be  kept  for  dinner.' 

'  He  could  a  sent  word.  Or  they'd  a  sent  dinner 
here.  I've  knowed  Dagoes  do  that.  You  got 
good  eyes,  Ed.  What  d'you  make  of  the  woods 
there,  back  of  the  sand  } '  He  turned  to  Mar- 
garet. *  He  been  with  the  Indians  three  or  four 
years,  Ed  done.  He  sees  things  in  brush  like  that, 
just  like  an  animal.' 

All  hands  stared  into  the  wall  of  green,  which 
rose  up  eighty  yards  away,  beyond  the  line  of  the 
sand.    The  trees  towered  up,  notching  the  sky  with 

316 


The  FLAG   OF    TRUCE 

their  outlines.  The  sun  blazed  down  upon  them, 
till  they  flashed,  as  though  their  leaves  were  green 
steel.  They  made  a  wall  of  forest,  linked,  tangled, 
criss-crossed,  hiding  an  inner  darkness.  A  parrot 
was  tearing  at  a  blossom  high  up  on  a  creeper, 
flinging  out  the  petals  with  little  wicked  twists  of 
his  head.  He  showed  up  clearly  against  the  sky 
in  that  strong  light. 

*  Nothing  wrong  there,'  said  Ed.  '  Look  at  the 
parrot.' 

They  looked  at  the  parrot,  and  laughed  to  hear 
him  abuse  the  flower. 

'They're  the  kind  you  can  learn  to  speak,  sir,' 
said  a  seaman.  '  I've  known  some  of  them  birds 
swear,  you  would  think  it  was  real.  Some  of  them 
can  do  it  in  Spanish.' 

'  The  Spaniards  don't  swear,'  said  another  man. 

'  They've  got  caramba,'  said  the  first.  '  Caramba. 
That's  the  same  as  God  damn  is  in  English.' 

'  Funny  way  of  saying  it,'  said  the  other. 

'  Some  one's  in  that  brush,'  said  the  man  called 
Ed.     *  See  the  paharo  .? ' 

Something  had  startled  the  parrot.  He  leaped 
up  with  a  scream  from  his  liane,  made  a  half-circle 
in  the  air,  and  flew  away,  wavering,  along  the 
coast.  One  or  two  other  birds  rose  as  quietly  as 
moths,  and  flitted  into  the  night  of  the  wood.  A 
deer  stepped  out  on  to  the  beach  daintily,  picking 
her  steps.  She  sniflFed  towards  the  town,  listened, 
seemed  to  hear  something,  caught  sight  of  the  boat, 
and  fled.  There  came  a  sudden  chattering  of 
monkeys,  a  burst  of  abusive  crying,  lasting  only 
for  a  moment. 

*  D'ye  see  anything,  Ed  .? ' 

317 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  There's  plenty  of  em,  cap,  I  guess/ 

^  Can  you  hear  'em  ?  Lay  your  head  on  the 
ground.' 

*The  wash  of  the  sea's  too  loud.  1  can't  hear 
nothing.' 

*  They're  coming  from  the  town,  are  they  .? ' 

'  Sure.' 

'  Is  there  a  road  at  the  back  of  that  wood  } ' 
Margaret  asked. 

'No,  sir.  I  guess  not.  The  Dagoes  use  the 
beach  as  a  road.' 

'Yes,'  said  a  seaman.  'They  go  to  Covenas. 
A  town  along  there.  They  always  go  by  the 
beach.' 

'  Do  you  know  this  place,  then  .? ' 

'  I  worked  on  them  walls  a  year,  once.  I'd  ought 
to  know  it.' 

'  D'ye  make  out  anything  more,  Ed  } ' 

'  They're  not  far  off  yet,  I  guess,  cap.' 

'  Do  you  think  it's  an  ambush.  Captain  Tucket  ?' 
Margaret  asked. 

'No  saying,  mister.  May  as  well  make  ready,'  he 
answered.  '  We'll  lay  out  our  boat's  kedge  to  sea- 
ward, so  as  we  can  warp  off  in  a  hurry.' 

They  rowed  the  boat  out  into  the  bay,  dropped 
their  kedge,  and  backed  her  stern-first  to  the  beach. 
They  struck  the  awning,  hoisted  sail,  and  laid  their 
oars  in  the  thole-pins.  They  waited  for  another 
half-hour,  watching  the  mysterious  forest. 

'  I  guess  we'll  go  off  to  the  sloop,  cap,'  said  a 
seaman.     '  He's  give  us  the  flying  foretopsail.' 

'Them  paharos  is  back  among  them  berries,' 
said  Ed.  '  I  guess  it  was  boys  come  for  plan- 
tains.' 

'318 


The  FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

*  I  dunno/  said  Tucket.  *  It's  odd  our  man 
ain't  come/ 

*■  I  must  go  up  to  the  town  to  find  out  about 
him,'  Margaret  said.     *  I  can't  wait  like  this.' 

'  I  wouldn't,  sir,'  said  Tucket.  *  What  do  you 
say,  boys  ? ' 

'  No,'  said  the  men.     '  No.     It  wouldn't  do.* 

^  But  I  got  him  to  go.  I  can't  let  him  get  into 
trouble  through  me.  I'm  responsible.  I  must  see 
about  him.     I  can't  go  back  without  him.' 

*  He's  give  you  the  foresheet,  sir,'  said  one  of 
the  men. 

'  Yes.  The  son  of  a  gun.  I  guess  he  has,'  said 
another. 

'There's  some  one  in  that  brush,'  said  Ed. 
'  Them  paharos  has  topped  their  booms  for  keeps.' 

'  Well,'  said  Margaret,  taking  out  his  white 
cloth,  noting  the  wild,  frightened  flight  of  a  half- 
dozen  parrots,  '  I'm  going  to  the  some  one,  to  find 
out.'  He  leaped  from  the  sternsheets  into  the 
shallow  water,  and  began  to  wade  ashore,  holding 
his  cloth. 

'  Don't  you  try  it.  You  come  back,  sir,'  called 
Tucket. 

Margaret  heard  some  one  (he  thought  it  was 
Ed's  voice)  saying,  '  He's  brave  all  right,'  and  then, 
behind  him,  came  the  click  of  gunlocks.  He 
glanced  back,  and  saw  that  two  of  the  men  in  the 
sternsheets  had  taken  out  their  guns,  while  a  third 
man  laid  other  loaded  guns  ready  to  their  hands. 
Ed  called  to  him  as  he  turned. 

'  You  come  back,  sir.'  Then,  seeing  that  his 
words  were  of  no  avail,  he  leaped  into  the  water 
and  caught  him  by  the  arm.     '  Back  to  the  boat, 

319 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

sir/    he    said.      *  It's    not    you    only.      It    might 
be   us.* 

*  1  must  find  out  about  my  friend,'  said  Mar- 
garet.    '  I  can't  leave  him  as  he  is,' 

'  Bring  him  back,  Ed.  Make  him  come  back,' 
called  the  boatmen. 

^  Now  you  go  back,'  Ed  repeated,  grinning,  *  or 
I'll  have  to  put  you.'  He  looked  up  suddenly  at 
the  forest.  *  My  Santa  Marta  I '  he  cried.  '  Into 
the  boat.  Here  they  are.'  He  thrust  Margaret 
backwards  towards  his  fellows,  and  instantly  bent 
down  to  shove  the  boat  clear.  Both  were  up  to 
their  knees  in  water  at  the  boat's  side.  Some  one, 
it  was  the  man  who  had  worked  in  Tolu,  leaned 
out  and  grabbed  at  Margaret's  collar. 

*  Look  out,  sons  ! '  cried  Tucket. 

At  the  instant  a  swarm  of  men  burst  from  the 
edge  of  the  forest.  One  or  two  of  them  who  were 
mounted  charged  in  at  a  gallop.  The  others  ran 
down,  crying,  firing  their  guns  as  they  ran.  The 
water  about  the  boat  was  splashed  violently,  as 
though  some  one  flung  pebbles  edgewise  from  a 
height.  Margaret  drew  his  sword  and  turned. 
He  saw  a  horse  come  down  within  twenty  yards  of 
him.  Some  one  shouted  *  Crabs  '  derisively.  Half 
a  dozen  fierce  faces  seemed  staring  on  him,  rushing 
on  him,  their  mouths  open,  their  eyes  wide.  There 
was  a  crack  of  guns.  Men  were  falling.  Then 
the  wildness  passed  ;  he  was  calm  again.  A 
Spaniard,  the  rider  of  the  fallen  horse,  was  in  the 
water,  thrusting  at  him  with  a  lance,  calling  him 
cuckold  and  bastard  in  the  only  English  words  he 
knew.  Margaret  knocked  the  lance  aside  with 
difficulty,  for  the  man  was  strong  and  wild.     His 

320 


The  FLAG   OF    TRUCE 

thought  at  the  moment,  for  all  the  danger,  was 
*  1  can't  be  both/  He  wondered  in  that  flash  of 
time  whether  a  man  could  be  both.  All  the  beach 
seemed  hidden  from  him  with  smoke  and  fire  and 
the  hurrying  of  splashing  bodies.  Where  was  Ed 
gone .''  It  was  all  smoke  and  racket.  He  was 
being  hit.  Something  struck  his  left  arm.  Strik- 
ing at  random  at  a  voice  in  the  smoke,  his  sword 
struck  something.  He  dragged  his  sword  back, 
and  slipped  with  the  effort.  He  was  up  to  his 
waist  in  water  for  an  instant,  below  the  smoke. 
He  saw  men's  legs.  He  saw  water  splashing. 
Then  there  was  smoke  everywhere.  Smoke  of  a 
hundred  guns.  A  racket  like  the  chambers  shot 
off  at  the  end  of  Hamlet ;  exactly  like.  A  wave 
went  into  his  face.  Some  one  fell  across  him  and 
knocked  him  down  again.     It  was  Ed. 

^  Hold  up,  you  fool,'  Ed  cried.  The  voice  was 
the  high,  querulous  voice  of  the  hurt  man. 

'  You're  hit,  Ed,'  he  said,  catching  him  about  the 
body.  His  arm  stung  along  its  length  with  the 
effort.     '  Where  are  you  hit,  Ed  ? ' 

'  Abajo.  Vete  al  carajo,  hijo  de  la  gran  puta. 
Cabron  !  Mierda  ! '  The  words  came  out  of  the 
smoke  like  shots.  The  roar  of  the  battle  seemed 
to  be  all  about  him.  He  backed,  staggering, 
to  get  out  of  the  smoke.  A  half-tamed  horse's 
teeth  ripped  the  sleeve  from  his  hurt  arm,  knocking 
them  both  down  again.  Some  one  jabbed  him  with 
a  lance  in  the  shoulder.  He  struck  the  horse  as  he 
rose  half  choked,  still  clutching  Ed.  The  horse 
leaped  with  a  scream.  The  smoke  lifted.  It  was 
all  bright  for  a  moment.  A  mad  horse  ;  a  trooper 
swearing  ;  Ed's  body  like  a  sack  with  blood  on  it ; 
Y  321 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

a  smoke  full  of  fiery  tongues.  There  was  the  boat 
though.  Then  the  smoke  cloaked  it.  Bullets 
splashed  water  in  his  face.  The  butt  of  a  flung 
lance  banged  him  on  the  side  of  the  head.  The 
horse  reared  above  him,  screaming,  floundering  in 
foam,  then  falling  heavily.  He  was  almost  out  of 
his  depth  now,  half  swimming,  half  dead,  lugging  a 
nether  millstone.  Blood  was  in  his  eyes,  his  sword 
dangled  from  his  wrist,  his  free  hand  tried  to  swim. 
He  clutched  at  the  boat,  missed,  went  under,  gulp- 
ing salt.  He  clutched  again  as  the  white  side  slid 
away.  His  fingers  caught  upon  the  gunwale,  near 
the  stroke's  thwart.  He  made  the  boat  sway  to 
one  side  a  little.  *  Trim  her,'  said  Tucket,  as  he 
hauled,  face  forward,  on  the  warp.  He  did  not 
look  round  ;  merely  trimmed  her  mechanically, 
flinging  the  warp's  fakes  aft.  '  Away-hay-hay-i-oh,' 
he  sang.  '  Lively,  Jude^'  said  another.  '  If  you 
fire  like  you  load,  your  bullets  has  moss  on  them.' 
Two  of  them  were  firing  sharply,  lying  behind  the 
backboard.  *  Cut,'  cried  Tucket.  There  was  a 
shock  of  chopping  on  the  gunwale.  A  hand  sculled 
way  upon  her  with  the  steering-oar  as  the  sail 
filled.     The  midship  oars  were  manned. 

'Give  me  a  hand  here,  please,'  said  Margaret 
weakly.     '  Catch  Ed.' 

'  Lord.  I  thought  you  were  in,'  said  Tucket. 
'  Up  with  him.  Ed's  gone.  Don't  capsize  the 
ship,  you.     I'd  forgot  you  two.' 

Margaret  managed  to  scramble  in,  helped  by  the 
boatmen.  Then  he  collapsed  in  the  bottom  of 
the  boat  over  Ed.  He  had  had  a  moving  time. 
He  came-to  quickly,  with  the  taste  of  rum  in  his 
mouth  and  a  feeling  of  intense  cold.     His  teeth 

322 


The  FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

chattered  ;    he   was    weak   and    sick.     '  Land    and 
bring  off  Stukeley,'  he  said.  *  I  can't  leave  Stukeley.' 

*  We'll  be  in  the  sloop  in  a  minute,'  said  one  of 
the  men.  *  We'll  shift  him  there.  He  got  a  prod 
in  the  shoulder.' 

*  How  is  it,  Ed  ? '  said  another  voice.  '  You're 
all  right.' 

^  What's  wrong  with  Ed } '  said  one  of  the 
rowers. 

*  Got  a  bat  with  a  stone,  I  guess.  I  can't  see  no 
shot  hole.     Hold  up,  Ed.     You  ain't  dead  yet.' 

M'm  all  right,'  said  Ed  weakly.  ^That  Mar- 
garet fellow  fell  all  across  me  and  knocked  me 
down.' 

'  He  pulled  you  quit  of  the  mix,'  said  Tucket. 
'  Don't  you  forget  it.' 

'  He  did,  hell,'  said  Ed. 

Margaret  rose  up  in  the  boat.  '  I  can't  leave 
Stukeley,'  he  said.  '  Pull  in.  Captain  Tucket,  and 
bring  him  off.' 

'  You  lie  down,  sir,  and  stay  quiet,'  said  Captain 
Tucket.     '  We'll  be  there  directly.' 

One  or  two  of  the  men  tittered.  Margaret 
tried  to  raise  himself  to  look  at  the  land.  He 
heard  the  roar  of  cannon  from  somewhere  astern. 
'That's  a  heavy  gun,'  he  said.  *  Who's  firing  a 
heavy  gun  }'  Then  he  felt  suddenly  very  tired, 
the  boat  and  the  guns  became  blurred  to  him,  he 
felt  that  there  were  ships  sailing  into  action,  firing 
their  guns  in  succession,  shaking  with  the  shock. 
An  array  of  ships  was  sailing.  There  were  guns, 
guns.  Guns  that  would  never  cease  firing.  There 
was  water  roaring.  No.  Not  water.  Horses. 
Horses  and  ships.     Roaring,  roaring.     They  were 

323 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

calling  some  one  'Puta.*  When  he  came-to,  he  was 
lying  below  in  the  sloop,  with  a  cold  mess  on  his 
arm  and  a  fiery  pain  along  his  shoulder. 

^  Is  Mr.  Stukeley  on  board  } '  he  asked. 

'  No,  sir,*  said  Tucket,  drying  his  hands.  '  Mr. 
Stukeley*s  ashore.  It*s  my  belief  our  Mr.  Stukeley 
put  that  ambush  on  us.  Mr.  Stukeley'll  stay 
ashore.* 

^  I  must  bring  him  off.  Land  me,  captain. 
There's  his  wife.' 

^  You  just  have  a  lap  of  this  lemon-drink,'  said 
Tucket.  '  We  had  about  as  near  a  call  as  may  be. 
Ed  got  a  bat  on  the  head.  You  been  pretty  near 
killed.  There's  a  pound's  worth  of  paint  knocked 
off  the  boat.  Jude's  got  a  slug  in  his  pants.  The 
sail's  like  a  nutmeg-grater.  If  we'd  not  laid  that 
warp  out,  the  land-crabs  would  be  eating  us  at  this 
present.  There's  a  couple  of  hundred  soldiers  on 
the  beach  ;  besides  the  guns.' 

*They  came  at  us  in  a  rush,'  said  Margaret. 
The  words  seemed  not  to  come  from  him.  His 
meaning  had  been  to  ask  Tucket  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

^That's  why  they  fired  so  wild,'  said  Tucket. 
'  They  rushed.  They  saw  you  and  Ed,  and  thought 
they'd  take  you.' 

'  But  Stukeley.  We  must  get  Stukeley.  They 
may  have  killed  him.' 

'  He's  all  right.     You  settle  off.' 

After  some  hours  of  quiet,  Margaret  rose  up, 
feeling  very  weak.  The  cabin  was  hot  and  foul,  so 
he  dressed,  and  went  on  deck  for  the  freshness. 
The  boat's  crew  were  telling  the  sloop  hands  exactly 
what  had  happened.    Margaret  knew  from  the  way 

324 


The  FLAG   OF    TRUCE 

in  which  they  spoke  to  him,  from  the  plain  words 
of  '  Good  evening,  sir,*  and  ^  I  hope  you're  better, 
sir,*  that  he  was,  for  some  reason,  the  hero  of  the 
moment.  His  shoulder  pained  him,  so  he  sat 
down,  with  his  back  against  the  taffrail.  A  sailor 
placed  a  coat  behind  him,  so  that  his  rest  might  be 
easy.  Tucket  was  steering.  The  lights  of  the 
Broken  Heart  were  visible  a  couple  of  miles  ahead, 
against  the  mass  of  Ceycen,  which  hid  the  stars 
to  the  north-eastward. 

^  Are  you  dead  yet  ?  *  said  Tucket. 

'I'm  well,  thanks.    I'm  thinking  of  Mr.  Stukeley.' 

There  came  a  sort  of  growl  of  '  Stukeley '  from 

the    seamen    about   him.      '  Stukeley,'    they    said. 

'  He's  a  mother's  joy,  the  Portuguese  drummer's 

get.' 

*  Stukeley,'  said  Tucket.  *  He  put  that  little 
quiff  on  us  on  the  beach.  I  ain't  goin'  to  drown 
no  one,  shedding  tears  for  Stukeley.' 

'  Nor  I,'  said  the  man  called  Jude.  *  I'd  only 
bought  them  pants  a  week.' 

*  Pants,'  said  Tucket.  '  You'd  not  a  wanted 
many  pants  if  Ed  and  Mr.  Margaret  hadn't  been 
in  the  water.  Them  two  in  the  water  made  'em 
rush.  If  they'd  come  slow,  you'd  a  been  hit  in  the 
neck  with  that  chewed  slug,  my  son.  Don't  you 
forget  it.' 

*  Did  anybody  see  Mr.  Stukeley  1 '  Margaret 
asked.  '  Was  he  in  the  rush  }  Could  anybody  see 
in  the  smoke  ? ' 

*  No,  sir.     No  one  saw  him.' 

'Then  why  do  you  think  he,  he  prompted  the 
raid  }     What  makes  you  think  that  ? ' 

'They've  always  received  flags  of  truce  before,' 
325 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

he  answered.  'And  you'd  a  commission  besides. 
You  aren't  like  one  of  us.  Why  didn't  they  shoot 
when  we  put  the  son-of-a-gun  ashore  1  I'll  tell 
you.  They  thought  we  were  ordinary  flag  of 
truce.  That  curly-headed  gentleman's  son  put  'em 
up  to  it,  after  dinner.  Why  }  I  know.  That's 
why.' 

'  I  can't  see  your  point,'  Margaret  answered. 
His  thought  was  that  he  would  have  a  bad  hour 
with  Olivia.  The  thought  had  no  bitterness  ;  it 
occurred  to  him  simply,  as  a  necessary  part  of  the 
pain  of  moving  from  the  sloop.  His  shoulder 
gave  him  pain  ;  the  thought  of  climbing  his  ship's 
side  gave  him  pain.  He  had  a  blurred  feeling  that 
he  would  have  to  stand  painfully,  explaining  to  a 
nervous  woman.  He  would  never  be  able  to  do  it, 
he  thought.  He  was  too  stupid  with  pain.  He 
was  feverish.  He  was  tired.  He  would  have  to 
stand  there,  trying  to  be  tender  and  sympathetic, 
yet  failing,  stupid,  blunt.  They  would  have  to 
rescue  Stukeley.  Rescue  him.  '  Yes,'  he  said  to 
himself,  '  I'll  rescue  him  for  you.  I'll  bring  him 
back  to  you  from  Tolu,  Olivia.'  He  mumbled  and 
muttered  as  the  fever  grew  upon  him.  '  I  wish  all 
this  had  never  happened,'  he  said  aloud. 

'  You're  goin'  off  into  the  shakes,'  said  one  of 
the  men,  putting  a  blanket  round  him.  '  You  want 
to  take  bark  in  a  sup  of  rum,  sir,  and  then  turn  in.' 

'  Every  one  with  a  green  wound  gets  the  shakes 
in  this  country,'  said  another  man.  *  Now  up  in 
Virginia  you  can  go  from  September  to  May  and 
never  have  'em  once.' 

'There's  a  light  in  the  cabin,'  said  Margaret, 
with  his  teeth  chattering. 

326 


The  FLAG   OF    TRUCE 

*  That's  your  ship  all  right,  sir.  Ahoy,  you  ! 
Broken  Heart  ahoy-ah  ! ' 

'  Ahoy,  you  ! '  came  out  of  the  night.  '  Is  that 
the  Happy  Return  ? ' 

^  We're  the  jolly  come-backs.' 

Bells  were  beaten  from  somewhere  in  the  dark- 
ness. To  Margaret's  throbbing  brain  the  strokes 
seemed  to  be  violent  lights.  He  thought  in  his 
fever  that  all  physical  objects  were  interchangeable, 
that  they  all,  however  different,  expressed  with 
equal  value  (though  perhaps  to  different  senses)  the 
infinite  intellect  that  was  always  One.  He  thought 
that  the  boat  was  a  thought  of  a  thought  ;  and  that 
a  ship  and  a  house  were  much  alike,  very  worthless 
the  pair  of  them.  One  should  get  away  from  these 
thoughts  of  thoughts  to  thought  itself.  The  Broken 
Heart  loomed  large  above  him. 

'  Send  down  a  chair.  Lion,'  some  one  said.  *  Mr. 
Margaret's  had  a  nasty  clip.' 

'  Easy  now  with  the  chair,'  said  Cammock's 
voice.     *  Is  Mr.  Stukeley  there  ? ' 

*  He's  swallowed  the  killick,'  said  Tucket,  with 
a  hard  laugh. 

'  He's  got  my  map-book,  then,'  said  Cammock. 
*  He's  gone  with  my  map-book.' 

'Yes,'  said  Margaret,  getting  out  of  the  chair. 
'  Your  map-book.  It's  in  his  pocket.  I  think  I  saw 
it  there.' 

*  Lean  on  me,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  '  The  lady's 
expecting  you.     She's  sitting  up  in  the  cabin.' 

'  Let  me  go.  You  turn  in.  I'll  break  it  to  her,' 
Perrin  said. 

'  No.  I  must  go,'  Margaret  answered.  *  How 
has  it  been  here,  captain  ? '     Feverish  as  he  was, 

327 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

he  felt  that  he  had  been  away  for  many  days.  The 
ship  was  strange  to  him. 

'  I've  been  throwing  the  ship  overboard,  looking 
for  my  maps,'  Cammock  answered.  '  How  is  your 
hurt,  sir  }  When  you  talk  to  the  lady,  you  better 
have  a  drop  of  something.  Just  stop  at  my  cabin 
for  a  moment/ 

He  fetched  wine  and  bark  from  his  cupboard. 
Then  ^he  three  men  entered  the  cabin,  where 
Olivia  stood  expectantly,  her  cheeks  flushed,  wait- 
ing for  her  husband's  return.  She  had  made  the 
most  of  her  beauty  for  him.  She  had  decked  her- 
self out  with  an  art  that  brought  tears  to  Perrin's 
eyes.  She  had  done  her  best,  poor  beauty,  to  keep 
the  heart  which,  as  she  thought,  she  had  won  back 
again.  Looking  at  her,  as  she  stood  there,  Perrin 
learned  that  Stukeley  had  commended  a  slip  of 
black  velvet  round  her  throat,  that  he  had  praised 
her  arms,  that  he  liked  the  hair  heaped  in  such  a 
fashion,  with  a  ribbon  of  such  a  tone  of  green. 
He  guessed  all  this  at  a  glance,  telling  himself  that 
he  must  never  again  speak  of  these  things  to  her. 
And  the  poor  girl  had  rouged  her  cheeks,  to  hide 
the  paleness.  She  had  pencilled  her  eyebrows. 
She  had  drunken  some  drug  to  make  her  eyes 
bright.  In  the  soft  light  of  the  lamp  she  looked 
very  beautiful.  She  stood  there,  half-way  to  the 
door,  waiting  for  the  lover  of  her  love-days  to  take 
her  to  his  heart  again. 

*  Where  is  Tom  V  she  said.  'You're  hurt,  Charles. 
Where's  Tom  .?   He  isn't  killed  .?    He  isn't  killed  V 

'  He  went  into  the  city,'  said  Margaret  dully. 
*  He  went  into  the  city.'  His  teeth  chattered  and 
clicked  ;    he   seemed  to  have  been    repeating   his 

328 


The  FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

phrase  for  hours.  '  Into  the  city,'  he  repeated.  He 
was  ill,  really  ill.  He  was  in  a  dream  of  fever. 
He  was  dreaming,  he  was  in  a  nightmare,  giving  a 
message  in  that  dream-speech  which  none  compre- 
hends save  the  speaker. 

*  He  went  into  the  city,'  said  Olivia  slowly.  She 
sank  backwards,  till  she  leaned  against  the  bulk- 
head, her  arms  straying  out  along  the  beading. 
'  But  he  came  back.     He  came  back.' 

*  No,  ma'am,'  said  Cammock  gently.  *He  didn't 
come  back.' 

'  He's  not  killed  }  Not  dead  ?  Oh,  can't  one 
of  you  speak  } ' 

'  I  don't  know,'  said  Margaret.  '  We  waited. 
He  went  into  the  city  with  them.' 

'  They  made  friends,'  said  Perrin.  '  Your  hus- 
band went  with  the  Spaniards.' 

*  Oh,  won't  you  tell  me  what  has  happened  } ' 

*  They  waited  in  the  boat,  ma'am,'  said  Cammock. 
'But  your  husband  didn't  come  back.  And  then 
the  Spaniards  attacked  the  boat.  Captain  Margaret 
was  wounded.' 

'  And  you  came  away  without  him  ? ' 

*  Yes,  Olivia.     He's  in  the  city.' 

*  Oh,  my  God,  my  God.  But  don't  you  know 
if  he  is  dead  or  alive  } ' 

*  No,  Olivia,'  said  Margaret. 

'  Charles  was  landing  to  find  him  when  the 
Spaniards  attacked,'  said  Perrin.  'He  was  wounded. 
They  wounded  him,  Olivia.' 

*  You  left  him,  alone,  Charles.  Alone.  To  be 
killed.' 

'  We'll  bring  him  back,  Olivia.  We  can  win 
him  back.' 

329 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  Oh,  but  he  may  be  killed.  He  may  be  killed. 
He  may  be  dead  now.' 

*  Beg  pardon,  ma'am,'  said  Cammock.  '  We 
think  he's  gone  over  to  the  Spaniards,  with  my 
book  of  charts  as  Basil  draw.' 

*You  think  he's  left,  left  us.  You  think, 
Charles.     Do  tell  me.     Tell  me.' 

'They  think  he's  gone  into  the  city,  Olivia,' 
Margaret  said,  '  to  tell  the  Spaniards  of  our  plans. 
Into  the  city,  Olivia.  We  saw  him  go  into  the 
city  a  long  time  before.  They  think  he  caused  the 
attack  on  us.  In  the  water.  It  was  like  a  bad 
dream.  Don't.  Don't.  I'll  bring  him  back, 
Olivia.     We'll  bring  him  back  to-morrow.' 

'  I'm  quite  calm,  Charles,'  said  Olivia  in  a  shak- 
ing voice.  '  I'm  quite  calm.  Look  at  my  hand 
here.     You  see.' 

'Sit  down,  Olivia,'  Margaret  said.  'There. 
In  this  chair.  I  want  to  say  this.  He  went  into 
the  city  walking  with  the  captain  of  the  garrison. 
The  negro  had  his  stirrup  in  his  toes.  They  were 
to  dine  with  the  Governor.  They  were  friends. 
He  told  me  himself  Your  husband  told  me  they 
were  friends.  After  the  siesta  they  ambushed  us. 
Oh,  my  God.  They  offered  a  hostage  even.  And 
your  husband  advised  me  to  refuse  it.' 

'And  you  think,'  Olivia  said,  'that  Tom,  my 

husband '      She  paused.     Then  gave  way  to 

the  running  gamut  of  shaking  sobs,  her  head  on 
the  table.  '  Oh,  Tom,  Tom,  come  back  to  me. 
Come  back  to  me.' 

'  It  was  after  he  had  dined  with  the  Governor 
that  they  ambushed  us,'  Margaret  repeated.  '  And 
I  saw  Cammock's  map-book  in  his  pocket.' 

330 


The  FLAG    OF  TRUCE 

^  But  he'd  no  thought  of  it,'  she  cried.  '  Only 
this  morning.  Only  this  morning.  It  was  so 
sweet.  Oh,  he'd  no  thought  of  it  this  morning. 
None.     You  know  he  had  none.' 

'  Of  course,  no  one  knows,'  said  Perrin.  *  He 
may  be  only  a  prisoner.' 

*  They  never  kill  prisoners,'  said  Cammock.  '  Be 
easy  as  to  that.' 

'And  he's  left  me,'  she  sobbed.  *  Oh,  but  I 
know  he  loves  me.  It's  not  that.  I  know  he 
does.  I  know  he  does.  Oh,  Charles.  What 
makes  you  think.  I'm  quite  calm  again.  I  can 
bear  it  all.  I'm  calm.  What  makes  you  think 
that  he's  gone  } ' 

'  One  or  two  things  he  asked.  He  was  asking 
about  life  with  the  Spaniards.     And  his  manner.' 

'  Charles,  did  you  suspect  him }  Did  you 
expect  this  when  you  chose  him  }  Chose  him 
yesterday  } ' 

Margaret  sat  down  at  the  table,  looking  at  her 
stupidly,  his  face  all  drawn. 

'  Charles,  you  didn't  suspect  him  ?  You  thought 
of  this.' 

Margaret  burst  out  crying,  with  the  tearless  grief 
of  an  overwrought  man.  '  I  wish  all  this  had 
never  happened,'  he  said.  '  I  wish  it  had  all  never 
happened.  Never  happened.'  He  checked  him- 
self, half  aware,  in  the  misery  of  his  fever,  that  he 
had  to  answer  Olivia.  '  I  don't  know  what's  the 
matter  with  me  to-night,'  he  said.  *  I've  got  such 
white  hands.  Such  white  hands,  like  a  girl.'  He 
laughed  in  a  shrill,  silly  cackle.  '  You  must  think 
me  a  silly  girl,'  he  said. 

'  Charles,'  Olivia  cried. 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^Vm  all  right,'  he  said.  *  Tm  all  right.'  He 
pulled  himself  together  with  an  effort.  '  Look 
here,'  he  said.  '  Here.  I  oughtn't  to  have  let 
him  go  alone.  It  was  my  fault.  All  my  fault. 
Into  the  city  alone.  You  say  I  thought  of  this. 
Never  entered  my  head.  Never.  I'm  talking  like 
a  drunk  man.  What's  the  matter  with  you  }  No. 
It  was  my  fault.  But.  Olivia.  Olivia.  Don't. 
Don't  cry.  We'll  get  him  back.  We'll  take  Tolu. 
I  swear  I'll  take  Tolu.  I'll  bring  him  back  to  you, 
Olivia.  Only.  You  don't  mean  what  you  said 
then.'  He  sank  back  in  his  chair.  '  I  think  I'm 
tired,'  he  added  weakly. 

Olivia  was  on  her  knees  at  his  side,  pressing  his 
hand  to  her  heart. 

*  Charles,'  she  said.  '  Charles,  you're  hurt. 
You're  hurt.  Wounded.  I  didn't  mean  that, 
Charles.  I  was  upset.  But.  Oh,  you'll  bring 
him  back.     Bring  him  back  to  me.' 

^  I'll  bring  him  back  to  you,  Olivia,'  he  answered, 
stroking  her  hand.  *  I'll  bring  him  back.'  He 
raised  her  from  the  deck.  'And  I'll  help  him  to 
that.     To  what  you  talked  of.     This  morning.' 

<To?' 

'The  new  life  together,'  he  whispered.  'Oh, 
Lord,  Olivia.  Stop  those  guns.  Stop  those  guns. 
They're  red-hot.' 

From  very  far  away,  in  the  heat  of  the  battle,  in 
the  smoke  and  trampling,  where  the  triumphing 
horses  laughed,  he  seemed  to  hear  Olivia's  voice. 

'My  God.  I've  kept  him  here.  And  he's 
wounded.     Edward.     Edward.     Is  he  dead  ?  * 

'Help  me,  captain,'  said  Perrin's  voice,  'You've 
kept  him  on  the  rack,  Olivia.' 

332 


The   FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

'  Don't  say  that,'  she  said.  *  Lay  him  on  my 
bed.  That'll  be  quieter.  1  must  nurse  him. 
Let  me  have  some  bark  and  limes,  Captain  Cam- 
mock.   Lay  him  down  there.   Now  some  cold  water.'- 

He  was  half  conscious  of  being  lifted  out  of  the 
light,  while  a  multitude  of  Spaniards  charged  him. 
He  saw  the  faces,  he  saw  the  horses'  heads  flung 
back,  and  the  foam  spattering  their  bit-cups.  He 
was  slashing  at  spear-heads,  which  pressed  in  a 
crown  of  points  about  his  skull.  After  that,  he 
fell  into  the  wildness  of  fever,  seeing  that  endless 
vision  in  his  brain,  the  endless,  disordered  proces- 
sion of  soldiers,  and  guns,  and  ships,  which  shouted 
crabbed  poetry,  poetry  of  Donne,  difficult  to  scan, 
exasperating  : — 

'  Men  of  France,' 

the  procession  shouted, 

*  changeable  chameleons, 
Spitals  of  diseases,  shops  of  fashions.' 

So   he    lay,    for   many  hours,   feverish    and    sick, 
rambling  and  incoherent. 

He  was  ill  for  some  days,  during  which  Olivia 
nursed  him  tenderly.  She  found  in  the  vigil  a 
balm  for  her  own  sorrow,  a  respite  from  the 
anxieties  which  ate  her  heart.  The  uncertainty 
made  it  worse  for  her.  She  would  fall  asleep, 
sitting  uneasily  in  the  chair  by  the  bed,  to  dream 
of  her  husband  lying  in  the  earth,  among  the  roots 
of  the  creepers,  the  mould  in  his  eyes.  Or  she 
would  see  him  chained  to  a  log,  working  in  the 
gang,  carrying  mud  bricks  to  the  walls,  or  singing, 
like  the  man  in  Cammock's  tale,  with  whip-cuts  on 
his  body.     Sometimes,  in  the  worst  dreams,  she 

333 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

saw  him  with  the  veiled  figure  of  a  woman,  and 
woke  crying  to  him  to  come  back  to  her,  knowing 
herself  deserted.  She  had  at  first  prayed  that  the 
men  would  attack  Tolu  at  once,  to  bring  him  back 
to  her.  The  point  had  been  debated  among  the 
captains.  But  Perrin,  at  his  best  now,  with  his 
quiet,  clumsy  sympathy,  had  shown  her  that  this 
was  not  possible. 

'  You  see,  Olivia,'  he  said,  ^  they  must  expect  us. 
And  we  must  run  no  risk  of  failure.  You  see, 
don't  you,  what  a  danger  it  would  be  to  him  if  we 
tried  and  failed  }  And  the  town  will  be  full  of 
troops  for  the  next  week  or  two,  expecting  an 
attack.' 

There  were  other  good  reasons  against  instant 
action.  Cammock  was  sure  that  the  Spaniards 
would  send  a  force  against  the  lurking-places  along 
the  Main,  now  that  they  had  his  charts  as  guides. 
Other  captains  thought  this  possible  ;  so  the  word 
was  given  to  return  to  Springer's  Key.  After 
their  arrival,  they  prepared  the  fort  against  attack, 
and  warned  all  privateers  at  the  frequented  anchor- 
ages. Then,  having  time,  they  careened  the  Broken 
Hearty  washing  her  with  lime  till  she  had  something 
of  her  old  speed  again.  Other  privateers  joined 
them  when  they  heard  that  they  intended  to  take 
Tolu.  Margaret,  sitting  in  the  cabin,  a  convales- 
cent, talked  of  his  plans  with  Olivia.  Many  of 
the  buccaneers  were  employed  ashore,  making  long 
'dug-out'  canoas  for  the  attack.  He  pointed  to 
one  of  these,  as  it  lay  bottom  up  on  the  sand,  while 
the  seamen  tarred  it  against  the  worm. 

'  I  expect  we  shall  bring  your  husband  off  in 
that  one,'  he  said. 

334 


The   FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

^  Yes  ? '  she  answered.  '  But  IVe  been  thinking, 
Charles,  that  I  shall  never  see  Tom  again.' 

*  What  reasons  have  you  ^ '  he  asked.  *  Look, 
Olivia,  I've  been  thinking  it  over.  There  is  so 
much  possible  to  you.  Your  husband  would  be 
happy  at  a  kind  of  life  I've  planned  for  him.  On 
a  sugar  estancia  in  Jamaica.  Or  one  of  the  big 
plantations  here,  as  soon  as  the  ground  is  cleared.' 

*  Charles,'  she  said,  '  the  plantations  here  will 
never  be  cleared.  You've  been  dreaming.  I've 
been  dreaming.     And  I  shall  never  see  Tom  again.' 

^  You  were  always  the  despondent  one  in  the 
old  days,'  he  said  lightly  ;  then,  growing  grave,  he 
added, '  Olivia,  all  the  voyage,  I  helped  your  dreams. 
I  lied  to  you.  All  the  voyage  long,  I  lied.  I  longed 
to  spare  you.     I  could  see  no  better  way.' 

'  I  was  a  great  fool,  you  thought.' 

^  No  love  is  folly,'  he  answered.  *  But  now  I 
see  what  is  possible.  After  a  wreck  one  finds  the 
planks  loose  for  a  raft.' 

^  You  think  that,  Charles  ?  A  woman  finds  no 
planks,  as  you  call  them.  Do  you  think  my  life 
can  be  patched  up  by  planks  }  Do  you  know  why 
I  pray  for  you  to  go  to  Tolu  } ' 

'  To  restore  your  husband  to  you.' 

*  No,'  she  said.  *  I've  been  thinking,  Charles. 
I  want  you  to  go  to  Tolu  to  restore  Captain 
Cammock's  book.  That  is  the  first  thing.  And 
to  make  you  sure  that  he  isn't — that  he  wasn't 
killed  in  your  service.  I  know  what  you  will  find 
at  Tolu,  Charles.  He's  not  my  husband  now. 
I  see  him  too  clearly.  He's  forgotten  us  all  by 
this  time.     Oh,  you  know  he  has.' 

'  One  has  no  right  to  say  that.' 
335 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'It*s  strange  how  a  ship  alters  one's  judgments,' 
she  said,  with  a  little  laugh.  ^  I  used  to  be  afraid 
of  you.     I  couldn't  bear ' 

'  We  were  in  the  way,'  he  answered. 

'  I  was  in  a  dream.  A  bad  dream.  Now  it's  over.' 
She  shuddered,  turning  her  head  aside. 

*No,  Olivia.  Not  that,'  he  said.  'Life  isn't 
over.  I  can't  talk  to  you  as  I  should.  My  wound 
makes  me  stupid.  You  don't  know  men,  Olivia. 
Men  are  selfish,  brutal,  greedy.  You  were  never 
told  that.  You  never  saw  that  side  of  them.  It's 
only  one  side.  I've  no  right  to  talk  to  you  like 
this  ;  but  I'm  your  guardian  here.  Now  suppose. 
Men,  even  lovers,  aren't  single-natured,  like  women. 
Suppose  a  man  saw  a  woman  in  his  better  moment, 
saw  how  beautiful  and  far  above  him  she  was,  and 
loved  her  for  that  moment,  truly,  before  falling 
back  to  his  old  greeds.' 

'  Love  is  not  like  that.' 

'  We're  talking  about  life,  Olivia.  The  moment 
of  love  was  worth  while  to  both  of  them.' 

'  To  myself  and  to  my  husband  } ' 

'  Yes.     If  you  care  to  put  it  that  way.' 

'  And  now  .''     What  now  } ' 

'  Now  that  you  know,  Olivia,  you  know  that 
it's  not  all  greed,  any  more  than  it  is  all  love. 
You've  seen  a  man's  weakness.  His  sin,  even. 
You've  seen  the  part  of  him  he  hid  from  you.  We 
all  have  a  skeleton  to  hide.' 

'  I'm  not  to  be  moved  by  sophistry,  Charles.' 

'  Ship  life  tries  the  nerves,  Olivia.' 

'  Are  you  pleading  for  him  now,  Charles  } ' 

'Olivia,  don't  let  me  hurt  you  by  discussing 
your  husband.     But  did  you  ever  realize  him  .? ' 

336 


The  FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

*Yes.     I  suppose  I  did/ 

^  He  was  unlike  any  man  you  had  ever  seen. 
Ah.  Don't  answer.  1  know  you  too  well,  Olivia. 
I  know  all  this.* 

'  It  seems  a  long  time  ago/  she  said  coldly.  She 
was  pulling  a  little  arnotto  rose  to  pieces,  petal  by 
petal,  crushing  the  petals  till  her  finger-tips  were 
stained  and  scented. 

*  You  never  realized  him,  Olivia.  I  never  realized 
him.  I  did  not  know  in  Salcombe  that  day  that 
he  is  a  man  with  a  frightful  physical  energy.  On 
shore  he  could  work  it  off.  It's  not  easy  to  say 
this.  But  at  sea,  in  a  ship,  shut  up  here,  it  turned 
inward.     Do  you  see,  Olivia  } ' 

'  Does  that  excuse  a  man  .?  That  he  has  a  fright- 
ful physical  energy,  and  that  it  turns  inward  ?  * 

'  IVe  nothing  to  do  with  excuses.  But,  suppose 
that  that  was  the  case.  Suppose,  too,  that  he  had 
but  a  moment  to  decide  in  Salcombe,  between  a  lie, 
you,  and  the  possibility  of  a  new  life,  and  the  truth, 
arrest,  and  the  certainty  of  disgrace.  He  chose 
you,  the  lie,  and  the  possibility.  He  lied  to  you. 
The  moment  he  told  the  first  lie,  you  became,  in 
his  eyes,  in  a  sense,  an  enemy  to  beware  of,  an 
enemy  who  must  be  kept  from  the  truth  at  all  costs.' 

'  Yes.  I  have  seen  that,  of  course.  And  the  lie 
grew  all  through  the  voyage.' 

*  He  was  afraid  to  run  the  risk  of  losing  you,  by 
telling  you  the  truth.' 

^  That  was  not  much  of  a  compliment  to  me, 
was  it .? ' 

'All  through  that  voyage,  Olivia,  we  were  in 
terror  of  being  arrested  on  arrival.  It  was  in  our 
thoughts  night  and  day.  We  used  to  sit  in  my 
z  337 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

cabin  there,  planning  what  we  could  do,  if  we  found 
a  warrant  waiting  for  us.  The  strain  made  him 
reckless.' 

*  Why  should  it  have  made  him  reckless  }  * 

'  Because  there  was  no  one  on  board,  except  a  few 
inferiors,  who  could  console  him.  He  could  not 
confide  in  you.  He  had  lied  to  you.  We  were  not 
his  sort.  There  was  no  one  else  to  whom  he  could 
turn.' 

'  Except  some  inferiors,  to  whom  he  turned.' 

'  Yes,  Olivia.' 

*  And  you  could  watch  this,  without  a  word, 
without  attempting  to  put  the  matter  right.' 

*  Your  husband  wished  to  spare  you,  Olivia.  We 
could  not  speak.  We  thought.  We  thought  you 
were  going  to  have  a  child.' 

^  Ah,'  she  said,  breathing  hard,  *  I  understand 
now.' 

*A11  through  the  voyage,  your  husband  was 
probably  thinking  that  you  would  soon  learn,  and 
that  when  you  learned  you  would  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  him.  Imagination  is  rare  in  men. 
He  could  think  of  no  other  possibility.  He  made 
up  his  mind  that  you  would  cast  him  off,  and 
therefore  he  cast  you  off  without  giving  you  a 
chance  to  do  otherwise.  Imagination  is  rare  in 
women,  Olivia,  and  you  could  not  see  his  point  of 
view,  any  more  than  he  could  see  yours.' 

'  You  think  I  was  proud  and  unforgiving.  I 
have.  It.  If  he'd  turned  to  me.  And  he  left  me 
that  morning  with  a  stolen  book  in  his  pocket,  in- 
tending to  see  us  no  more.' 

'  Ah.  We  see  now  all  that  can  come  of  a  hasty 
moment.'     He  rose  from  his  seat  and  stood  before 

338 


The  FLAG   OF  TRUCE 

her.  '  Olivia,*  he  said,  *  I  don't  extenuate.  I've 
tried  to  explain.  Perhaps  neither  of  you  saw  very 
clearly.  After  Tolu,  Olivia,  there's  a  life  pos- 
sible for  you.  You  haven't  plumbed  each  other's 
natures.  You  haven't  really  lived  yet.  A  fool's 
paradise  isn't  life.  You  don't  know  what  you  may 
make  of  each  other's  lives.  He  had  not  much 
chance,  with  that  ghastly  business  hanging  over 
him.  You  had  none.  Could  you  not  start  fair, 
after  Tolu  } '  She  pulled  the  remaining  rose  leaves 
from  the  arnotto,  one  by  one.  '  It's  worth  it, 
Olivia.' 

^  Thank  you,  Charles,'  she  said  quietly.  She 
walked  slowly  to  her  state-room. 

*Yes,'  he  said  to  himself,  after  she  had  gone. 
*  Yes.     It's  the  best  thing.' 


339 


XII 

The   END 

*  The  rust  of  arms,  the  blushing  shame  of  soldiers.' 

The  Tragedy  of  Bon  due  a, 

*  Let's  sit  together  thus,  and,  as  we  sit. 
Feed  on  the  sweets  of  one  another's  souls/ 

A  Wife  for  a  Month, 
*  A  fair  end 
Of  our  fair  loves.' — The  Elder  Brother, 

nnEN  weeks  passed  before  they  felt  the  time 
ripe  for  their  attack.  By  that  time  Margaret 
had  made  a  good  recovery  ;  his  wound  was  well 
healed  over  ;  he  could  even  use  the  arm  a  little. 
Before  leaving  the  anchorage,  he  put  more  guns  in 
the  fort,  and  chose  out  a  garrison  to  fight  them. 
He  had  every  reason  to  be  pleased  with  his  success. 
A  large  part  of  Springer's  Key  had  been  cleared, 
under  his  direction,  for  plantain-walks  and  vanilla- 
patches,  as  well  as  for  Indian  corn.  More  than 
a  hundred  more  privateers  had  come  to  him,  and 
he  had  planned  with  Tucket  to  load  the  Broken 
Hearty  on  his  return  from  Tolu,  at  a  new  logwood 
forest,  never  yet  cut,  on  the  banks  of  the  Azucar. 
He  felt  happier  than  he  had  felt  since  leaving 
England  ;  for  now  his  way  seemed  clear.  His  old 
suspicion  of  Pain  had  gone.  Pain's  men  had 
worked  like  slaves  to  clear  the  key  for  culture. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  going  to  succeed 
after  all,  and  that  he  would,  as  he  had  planned, 

340 


The  END 

make  something  of  the  wasted  energies  of  the  men 
of  the  account.  He  had  even  started  Tucket 
on  a  dye-works,  with  half  a  dozen  cauldrons,  and 
a  bale  of  cotton  for  experiments.  The  huts  of  the 
Indians  had  been  altered  and  enlarged.  Springer's 
Key  Town  was  now  a  walled  city,  with  a  few 
wooden  shops,  where  the  Broken  Heart's  goods  were 
sold  for  gold-dust.  His  thoughts  ran  much  upon 
gold-dust ;  for  the  rivers  were  full  of  it,  according 
to  the  privateers.  He  went  up  the  Concepcion 
River  with  some  Indians  and  a  party  of  Pain's 
men,  during  the  last  of  the  weeks  of  waiting,  to 
look  for  gold-dust  in  the  sands.  They  washed  with 
sieves  in  several  likely  places,  finding  about  six 
ounces  in  all.  The  Indians  said  that  there  was 
more  higher  up,  in  the  rapid  upper  reaches,  in  the 
torrents  of  the  Six  Mile  Hills,  away  to  the  south. 
On  the  way  downstream,  he  cut  a  bundle  of  man- 
grove, thinking  that  the  bark  might  be  of  use 
to  tanners  in  Europe,  since  the  Indians  dressed 
hides  with  it.  The  damp  heat  of  the  Isthmus 
overcame  him.  He  saw  that  nothing  could  be 
done  there.  No  Europeans  would  ever  do  much 
in  such  a  climate.  But  at  sea  in  the  bright  Sam- 
balloes,  where  the  winds  blew  steadily,  never  dying 
to  a  calm,  he  felt  that  much  could  be  done.  He 
offered  bounties  to  all  who  would  clear  patches  for 
tobacco,  arnotto,  cochineal,  and  indigo.  Tucket, 
a  steady,  shrewd  man,  who  saw  a  chance  of  doing 
what  he  had  always  longed  to  do,  helped  him  ably. 
The  dye-works  occupied  their  mornings  together. 
The  rest  of  the  day,  after  the  noon  heat,  was  passed 
in  the  supervision  and  encouragement  of  the 
citizens.      The  brush  at  Tolu,  and  the  bringing  off 

341 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

of  Ed,  had  made  him  popular.  He  found  that  the 
privateers  were  fairly  well  disposed  towards  him. 
Even  the  inscrutable  Pain  seemed  friendly. 

It  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  rule  such  citizens. 
He  began  by  making  a  rough  division  of  labour. 
Those  who  loved  hunting  went  in  parties  daily  to 
the  Main  to  hunt.  Those  who  liked  to  work  in 
the  islands  cut  and  cleared  jungle,  planted  plantains, 
tobacco,  or  arnotto.  Others  took  boats  and  fished. 
Some  built  huts  or  canoas.  Some  dug  wells  and 
trenches  to  supply  the  plantations.  Many  Indians 
came  to  them.  Springer's  Key  knew  a  few  weeks 
of  bustling  prosperity.  Margaret  began  to  worry 
about  another  problem — the  sex  problem,  the 
problem  of  wives  for  his  settlers.  Where  was  he 
to  get  white  wives  for  three  hundred  men  ?  How 
was  he  to  avoid  the  horrors  of  the  mixed  races  } 
He  remembered  in  Virginia  the  strange  and  hor- 
rible colonial  mixtures,  the  mixtures  of  white  with 
red,  white  with  black,  black  with  red,  red  with  all 
the  mixtures,  black  with  all  the  mixtures,  creatures 
of  no  known  race,  of  no  traditions,  horrible  sports, 
the  results  of  momentary  lusts,  temporary  arrange- 
ments. One  could  buy  white  transported  women 
in  Jamaica  at  thirty  pounds  apiece.  One  could 
buy  redemptioners  in  Virginia  for  the  same  sum. 
Many  of  the  men  at  work  about  him  had  done  so, 
during  their  lives  in  the  colonies.  But  how  was  a 
nation  to  be  born  from  convicted  thieves,  petty 
larcenists,  bawds,  procuresses,  women  burnt  in  the 
hand,  branded  women }  He  resolved  to  hurry 
home  as  soon  as  the  plantations  began  to  bear,  as 
soon  as  the  Spaniards  began  to  recognize  his 
rights.     He   must  get  settlers,    honest,    reputable 

342 


The  END 

settlers.  He  would  have  to  search  England  for 
them,  hundreds  of  them,  so  that  the  bright  Sam- 
balloes  might  become  the  world's  garden.  He 
began  to  know  the  islands  now.  He  saw  them  in 
all  their  beauty,  Venices  not  yet  glorious,  sites  for 
the  city  of  his  dream.  They  shone  in  their  blos- 
soms, hedged  by  the  surf,  splendid  in  their  beauty. 
Among  these  hundreds  of  islands,  these  sparkling 
keys,  were  homes  for  the  poor  of  the  world,  food 
for  the  hungry,  beauty  for  the  abased,  work  for  the 
stinted,  rest  for  the  exhausted.  For  an  army  could 
feed  from  them  in  the  morning,  and  pass  on,  yet  in 
the  evening  there  would  be  food  for  another  army. 
The  earth  brought  forth  in  bounty.  All  the  fruits 
of  the  world  grew  there.  The  trade  winds  smelt  of 
fruit.  The  bats  from  the  Isthmus  darkened  the 
stars  at  twilight  as  they  came  to  gorge  the  fruit  ; 
yet  in  the  morning,  when  they  flew  screaming  to 
their  caves,  it  was  as  though  they  had  scattered  but 
a  husk  or  two,  scattered  a  few  seeds,  a  few  sucked 
skins.  The  sea  gave  a  multitude  of  fish.  The 
woods  were  full  of  game.  It  was  an  earthly  para- 
dise. It  went  to  his  heart  to  think  that  he  was 
almost  a  king  here.  To  the  Indians  he  was  more 
than  a  king  :  he  was  a  god. 

He  loved  the  Indians.  He  loved  their  dignity, 
their  pride  in  the  white  man's  friendship,  their 
devoted  service.  It  reminded  him  of  his  life  at 
school  and  of  the  devotion  of  small  boys  to  their 
captain.  During  his  convalescence  he  had  had 
many  talks  with  an  Indian  prince,  whom  the  sea- 
men called  Don  Toro.  He  had  learned  from  this 
man  to  speak  a  little  in  the  Indian  tongue,  enough 
to  draw  from  him  something  of  the  Isthmus.     He 

343 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

wished  to  clear  the  Isthmus  of  its  poisonous  tangle 
of  forest,  so  that  the  shore  might  become  savannah 
land,  as  at  Panama.  He  longed  to  see  the  jungle 
go  up  in  a  blaze,  in  a  roaring,  marching  army  of 
fire,  that  would  cut  a  blackened  swath  to  the  hills, 
leaping  over  tree-tops,  charring  the  undergrowth, 
making  good  pasture  for  cattle,  for  the  great,  pale 
Campeachy  cattle  which  his  ships  should  bring  there 
from  Sisal.  He  tried  to  make  Don  Toro  under- 
stand his  wish,  but  failed  ;  for  Don  Toro  was  a 
woodland  Indian  ;  the  forest  was  his  home.  That 
stroke  of  policy,  the  bonfire,  would  have  to  wait  till 
he  could  bring  the  Indians  to  help  him,  and  till  the 
logwood  on  the  banks  of  the  rivers  had  all  been  cut 
and  shipped.  But  he  wished  that  all  those  miles  of 
wood  were  lying  in  blackened  ashes.  It  was  now 
the  bright,  dry  season,  when  the  woods  were  plea- 
sant, musical  with  bell-birds,  sweet  with  blossoms. 
In  a  few  weeks  there  would  come  the  rains,  the 
months  of  rain,  the  steaming  months,  when  the 
trees  would  rise  up  from  a  marsh,  when  the  sound 
of  dropping  would  become  a  burden,  the  months  of 
the  white-ribbed  mosquito  and  the  yellow  fever. 

He  loved  Olivia  still.  His  passion  was  his  life, 
his  imagination.  While  that  fire  burned  in  him  the 
world  was  a  metal  from  which  he  could  beat  brave 
sparks.  He  was  not  sure  how  she  felt  towards  her 
husband.  He  had  done  his  best  for  her  husband. 
He  could  not  say  that  there  was  much  chance  of  a 
happy  life  for  her.  It  had  been  hard  to  counsel  her, 
doubly  hard,  for  when  she  spoke  gravely  her  voice 
thrilled,  the  tone  burned  through  him  like  a  flame. 
A  little  more,  and  honour  would  be  thrown  aside 
like  a  rag  ;  the  words  would  come  in  a  rush,  sweep- 

344 


The  END 

ing  him  away.  She  had  never  seemed  more  beauti- 
ful than  now.  She  was  pale,  still ;  her  eyes  had 
dark  rings  ;  but  she  had  never  seemed  more 
beautiful.  She  was  still  mysterious  to  him,  though 
he  knew  her  better  than  he  had  ever  known  her. 
She  was  an  exquisite  mystery,  beautiful,  sacred, 
unthinkable  ;  but  not  for  him,  never  for  him.  She 
would  only  be  a  shy  friend  to  him,  giving  a  little, 
hiding  much,  never  truly  herself  before  him.  So 
much  he  could  see,  hating  himself  for  his  clumsy 
walk,  for  his  gravity,  for  whatever  it  was,  in  him, 
which  kept  her  away.  He  saw  that  she  was  timid, 
fearful  of  all  rough  and  rude  things,  a  shy  soul, 
refined,  delicate.  He  guessed  that  his  love  for  her 
made  her  timid  of  him.  Then  came  the  thought  of 
Stukeley,  the  torment  and  hate  of  the  thought  of 
Stukeley.  He  was  to  restore  Stukeley  to  her,  after 
all  these  agonizing  weeks.  They  had  been  bad 
weeks,  weeks  of  doubt,  weeks  of  wicked  opportu- 
nity. Had  he  followed  his  own  heart,  during  those 
weeks,  he  might  have  wrought  upon  her,  till  the 
thought  of  Stukeley  was  loathsome  to  her.  He 
could  see  no  possible  happiness  for  her  in  a  life 
with  Stukeley,  if  Stukeley  were  restored.  She 
might  find  peace  of  mind  in  having  him  again 
beside  her  ;  but  never  happiness.  He  remembered 
an  old  phrase  of  Perrin's,  that  women  did  not  wish 
to  be  made  happy,  but  to  have  the  men  they  loved. 
It  seemed  true  ;  possibly  it  explained  many  horrible 
tales  of  faithfulness.  It  had  been  a  bitter  task  to 
plead  for  Stukeley.  It  would  be  bitter  to  bring 
him  back,  and  to  watch  the  new  peace  broken,  as  he 
knew  it  would  be,  himself  making  time  and  place. 
Still,  it  had  been  the  right  thing;  the  right  was  a 

345 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

better  thing  than  love.  He  bit  his  lips  for  loathing 
when  he  thought  how  very  far  from  the  right  his 
love  for  this  woman  had  led  him. 

Was  he  right,  he  wondered,  in  attacking  Tolu, 
in  an  attempt  to  win  back  Stukeley  .''  The  ambush 
on  the  beach  had  been  sufficient  declaration  of  war. 
They  had  shown  that  they  wished  for  war.  He 
had  put  his  hand  to  the  plough  ;  it  must  drive  on 
to  the  furrow's  end.  But  how  many  of  his  men 
would  fight  for  a  righteous  cause  when  the  issue 
was  tried?  To  help  the  Indians,  ancient  lords  of 
America,  was  a  righteous  cause,  though  the  ancient 
lords  lay  in  bones  in  the  caves,  dead  long  ago. 
Only  their  grandsons,  servile  degenerates,  or  men 
not  yet  dispossessed,  now  lived.  And  if  he  helped 
the  Indians,  beating  the  Spaniards,  was  his  colony 
to  sail  away,  or  to  have  the  fruit  of  their  toil } 
If  they  were  to  stay,  how  soon  would  the  clash 
come }  How  soon  would  the  white  men  burn 
the  forest,  so  that  they  might  possess  the  land  } 
When  he  asked  himself  this  question,  he  could 
not  honestly  say  that  he  was  fighting  for  the 
Indians'  sake.  His  men  were  fighting  for  loot, 
like  a  gang  of  robbers  on  a  road.  And  yet.  If  by 
their  means  he  broke  a  corrupt  power,  so  that  the 
islands  might  become  the  world's  garden  and 
granary,  another  Venice,  a  home  of  glory  and 
honour,  as  he  prayed,  as  he  truly  believed,  it  was 
right,  the  end  justified  him.  Only  he  must  see  to 
it  that  the  Venice  rose  from  all  this  noisomeness. 
That  was  his  task.  That  alone  could  keep  his 
sword  bright.  This  must  be  no  colony,  no  refuse 
heap,  where  younger  sons  might  work  with  their 
hands    unseen,   and    the    detected    family    knave 

346 


The  END 

escape  his  punishment.  It  must  be  other  than 
that.  When  they  sailed  home  from  Tolu  he  would 
proclaim  the  republic  of  the  keys  ;  they  would 
agree  upon  laws  together  ;  they  would  send  their 
first-fruits  home.  He  used  to  lie  in  his  bunk  at 
night  in  a  trance  of  prayer  that  he  might  make 
these  islands  all  that  he  had  hoped.  It  might  be, 
he  thought.  But  there  was  much  to  do,  and 
little  could  be  done  at  once.  When  they  came 
home  from  Tolu  ;  perhaps,  then,  he  would  see 
his  dream  made  real.  Now  and  then,  in  the 
night-watches,  he  asked  himself  whether  his  men 
would  stand  success.  He  remembered  how  Cam- 
mock  had  said  that  they  would  not  stand  failure. 
Thinking  of  Olivia,  he  knew  which  was  the  real 
test.  He  began  to  tremble  for  the  moment  of 
power.  St.  George  became  John  Bull  directly  he 
had  killed  the  dragon.  His  fine  standard  in  the 
arts  of  life  made  him  pray  that  he  might  never 
succeed  in  that  way.  Better  fail.  Failure  is  spirit- 
ual success.  What  is  heavon  to  those  who  have 
the  earth  ? 

They  sailed  from  Springer's  Key  three  hundred 
strong,  packed  in  the  two  ships  and  three  sloops. 
Fifty  men  remained  behind  to  garrison  the  key. 
A  party  of  Indians,  under  Don  Toro,  followed  the 
fleet  in  a  large  periagua.  Each  ship  in  the  fleet 
towed  a  bunch  of  canoas  in  which  the  attacking 
force  would  go  ashore.  They  were  very  gay 
with  flags  when  they  left  the  anchorage.  They 
fired  guns,  and  sang,  glad  of  the  battle.  In  a  few 
days  a  score  at  least  of  the  singers  would  be 
dead  in  the  sand,  others  would  be  stricken  down, 
perhaps    maimed.     Margaret    asked    Cammock    if 

347 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

they  ever  thought  of  this  before  a  fight ;  but  he 
answered,  ^  No.' 

*  No  one  would  ever  fight  if  he  thought/  he  said. 
'  Fve  been,  now  (with  other  fellows),  in  three  big 
fights.  We'd  not  got  a  chance  in  any  one  of  'em, 
if  you'd  asked  before.  I  was  at  Panama,  where 
we  were  all  starved  and  worn,  while  they'd  a  fresh 
army,  with  a  city  to  fall  back  on.  I  was  at  Perico, 
and  five  or  six  boats  of  us  fought  three  big  ships 
full  of  troops.  I  was  at  Arica,  where  about  a 
hundred  of  us  fought  what  was  really  a  brigade  of 
an  army.  I  don't  think  once  I  heard  any  say,  or 
even  think,  as  some  would  be  killed  and  shot.' 

'I  was  in  the  Low  Countries,'  said  Margaret. 
'  It  was  the  same  there.  Each  man  thinks  and 
hopes  that  it  will  be  the  other  fellow.  Sometimes  I 
feel  that  if  a  man  thinks  with  sufficient  strength,  he 
really  makes  a  sort  of  intellectual  guard  about  him- 
self. I  mean,  as  faith  saved  the  men  in  the  furnace. 
What  do  you  think  } ' 

*  Yes  } '  said  Cammock.  '  A  man  who  goes  in 
thinking  about  himself  like  that  isn't  going  to  do 
much  with  his  gun.     Besides,  h^  couldn't.' 

*  You  see  them  sometimes.' 

*Ay,'  said  Cammock.  'You  see  'em  swaying 
from  side  to  side  to  touch  their  next-hand  man. 
For  company.  You  see  'em  all  swaying  in  a  row. 
Like  this.  Side  to  side.  But  the  first  shot  locks  the 
ranks.  When  they  begin  to  fire  they  forget  it  all. 
They've  got  to  manage  their  guns.  And  they  get 
all  hid  in  smoke.  That's  another  comfort.  And 
they  can  shout,  "Give  'em  hell.  Give  'em  hell. 
Give  it  the  hijos  del  horos."  But  afterwards. 
What  about  afterwards  ^ ' 

348 


The   END 

*  The  dead  and  wounded  ?  Yes,'  said  Margaret. 
*  Poor  wretches  lying  out  without  water.  Ammuni- 
tion carts  going  over  them.  Camp  followers.  The 
night  after  a  battle.  1  remember  my  first.  It  was 
all  still  after  the  firing.  Then  one  heard  cries  in  the 
stillness,  from  all  round  one.  Awful  cries.  Like 
wild  beasts.' 

*I  never  heard  that,  sir.  But  IVe  seen  blood 
really  running  out  of  a  ship's  scuppers.  That 
gives  you  a  turn.  That  was  at  Perico.  She  was 
coming  past  us  full  tilt,  under  all  sail.  Her  decks 
were  full  of  men  ;  full.  We  were  only  eighteen 
of  us  in  the  long-boat.  So  we  gave  her  one  volley. 
It  was  like  a  deer  dropping  dead,  sir.  The  ship 
broached  to.  There  was  scarcely  a  man  left  standing 
in  her.  Their  matches  set  her  on  fire.  I  was 
aboard  her  afterwards.    I  never  see  such  a  sight.' 

*  And  how  many  are  over  there,  now,  going  about 
the  town,  to  be  killed  in  a  few  days,  not  seeing 
their  slayer  }  Have  you  ever  thought  of  the  soul, 
captain  }  It  must  be  startled  to  be  driven  from  the 
body  like  that.' 

*  The  faces  are  peaceful,  sir.' 

'Yes.  Many  are.  But  the  faces  one  sees  in  a 
fight.  I  never  saw  a  noble  expression  on  a  man's 
face  in  a  battle.  I've  seen  fear,  and  sickness,  and 
madness.  I  always  feel  a  compound  of  all  three. 
What  do  you  feel }  I  don't  believe  you  do  feel. 
You  are  always  so  wonderful.  I  wish  I  had  your 
self-control.' 

'  I  don't  know  what  I  feel,  sir.  Fear  of  having 
my  retreat  cut  off.  That's  the  thing  I  worry  over. 
I  tell  you,  sir,  frankly.  I  don't  want  that  ever  to 
happen  to  me.     I  don't  care  who  knows  it.' 

349 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  About  our  battle,  captain.  We  shall  land  in 
force  to  south  of  the  town,  while  Tucket's  party 
makes  a  strong  feint  on  the  north  wall.  We  shall 
creep  up  along  the  beach,  and  attack  the  south  wall 
as  soon  as  Tucket's  party  draws  their  fire.  We 
ought  to  be  in  the  town  by  the  time  the  sun's  at  all 
strong.  The  canoas  will  follow  us  up,  and  lie 
below  the  sea-wall,  ready  for  us.  The  ships  will 
anchor  within  gunshot  of  the  town  as  soon  as  we 
hoist  English  colours.' 

*  It'd  be  well  to  get  all  hands  off  soon,  sir. 
They'll  get  straggled,  looking  for  loot,  and  there's 
three  garrisons — Lobos,  Covenas,  and  Cispata — 
within  an  hour  or  two's  ride  of  the  place.  Another 
thing,  they'll  likely  take  to  drinking.' 

*  We're  not  in  the  town  yet,  captain.' 
'  That'll  come,  sir.' 

'You  know,  captain,  we  may  be  taking  our 
friend  back.' 

'  Yes,  sir.  The  lady,  poor  thing.  She  must  be 
suffering  now,  sir.  We're  anxious.  But  nothing 
to  her,  poor  thing,  wondering  if  that  man's  alive.' 

'  I'm  wondering  if  we  are  making  more  trouble 
for  her  by  bringing  him  back  to  her.' 

'  He's  not  been  brought  yet,  sir.' 

'  In  three  days,  captain.' 

*  Maybe  so,  sir.  If  you  ask  me,  I  say  no. 
She'll  never  see  him  again.  I  ask  Mr.  Perrin  that. 
One  always  comes  back  to  Mr.  Perrin.  They  call 
him  a  fool,  forward  there  ;  but  he  sees  things 
shrewder  than  some  of  these  wise  ones  that  tried 
to  drown  the  duck.  He  said,  "  No.  You'll  never 
see  him  again.  He's  married  to  a  Spanish  girl, 
and  changed  his  religion,  by  this  time."    One  never 

350 


The  END 

believes  Mr.  Perrin  till  one  finds  he  was  right  after 
all.     Then  it's  too  late.' 

*  Perhaps,'  Margaret  said.  *  He  may  be  right. 
That  may  be  it.  He  may  be  killed  in  the  assault. 
He  may  have  left  the  town.  We  may  never  see 
him  again.  It  may  be  the  end.  1  wonder  what 
sort  of  life  it  is  going  to  be  for  her  if  it  is  the 
end.' 

'  Life  goes  on  much  the  same,  sir.  Women  feel 
it  more  than  men  ;  they  live  so  cramped.  But  I 
always  say  a  man's  a  bigger  thing  than  anything  he 
makes.  If  he  makes  trouble  he'd  ought  to  be  big 
enough  to  bear  it.' 

*  And  if  the  trouble's  made  for  him  } ' 

'  There's  always  more  than  yourself  in  the  world. 
Come,  sir.' 

*  I  think,  captain,'  said  Margaret,  ^  you're  the 
only  one  of  us  all  who  comes  up  prepared  and  calm, 
ready  for  everything.  I  ought  to  have  been  on  the 
Main  with  you  and  Morgan,  instead  of  learning 
Latin  at  a  university.  If  I  ever  have  a  son,  I  shall 
send  him  abroad  with  you  to  be  a  buccaneer.' 

They  entered  the  gulf  in  the  darkness  of  the 
new  moon.  They  sailed  in  a  clump  together, 
Tucket  leading.  They  sailed  without  lights,  but 
for  the  night-lights  in  the  binnacles.  They  moved 
in  blackness  on  the  sea,  great  fish  making  fire- 
streaks,  lumbering  whales  with  their  brood.  The 
men  aboard  them,  waiting  in  the  darkness  for  the 
word,  struck  their  shins  on  guns  and  longed  to  be 
off.  Few  of  them  took  their  hammocks  from  the 
nettings  that  night.  They  passed  the  hours  talk- 
ing and  smoking,  in  slow  sea-walks  to  and  fro, 
humming  old  tunes  over  their  pipestems.     They 

351 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

had  made  themselves  ready  many  hours  before. 
Their  guns  had  been  oiled  and  loaded,  and  their 
belts  filled  with  cartridges,  during  the  afternoon. 
All  that  they  had  to  do  now  was  to  buckle  on  their 
water-bottles  and  snapsacks,  and  get  into  their 
boats.  They  heard  the  surf  tumbling  on  the 
Mestizos.  Setting  stars,  like  ships*  lights,  burned 
out  into  the  sea.  The  seamen  watched  them  as 
they  shifted  their  tides,  talking  of  the  past,  with  its 
memories,  of  ships  and  women,  its  memories  of  life 
and  the  sun. 

The  word  was  given  some  four  miles  from  the 
city,  lest  the  Indian  sentinels  should  sight  the  ships 
from  the  walls.  The  land  was  like  a  cloud  at  that 
distance,  like  a  sharply  defined  blackness  on  the 
sky,  shutting  off  the  rising  stars.  It  was  a  dark 
morning  ;  but  to  the  seamen's  eyes  it  w^as  light 
enough.  They  had  been  on  deck  since  the  setting 
of  the  watch.  They  had  grown  accustomed  to  the 
darkness.  It  was  now  an  hour  before  the  dawn. 
It  was  to  be  a  red  dawn  above  Tolu. 

Captain  Margaret  stood  with  Cammock  at  the 
gangway  watching  his  men  go  over  the  side  to  the 
canoas.  All  the  men  of  war,  twenty  of  his  crew, 
and  a  few  Indians,  fifty  men  in  all,  were  coming 
with  him  from  the  sfiip.  They  loitered  about  the 
gangway  like  sheep  at  a  gap,  they  seemed  a  great 
company.  They  did  not  talk  much  among  them- 
selves. One  or  two,  the  wags  of  the  fo'c's'le,  made 
jests  about  '  Tolu  soup '  ;  and  the  laughter  spread 
in  the  canoas,  where  the  men  were  packed  tightly, 
like  lovers  on  a  bench.  One  or  two  of  the  men, 
the  most  intelligent  among  them,  asked  to  shake 
hands  with  Captain  Margaret  as  they  passed  him  at 

352 


The  END 

the   gangway  side.     Perrin   touched   him    on    the 
shoulder  when  about  half  of  them  had  gone. 

*  Charles,'  he  said,  *  Olivia  wants  to  see  you. 
She's  in  the  alleyway.' 

^  In  a  minute,'  he  answered.      '  Good-bye,  West.' 

'  Good-bye,  sir.' 

*Look:  after  them,  captain.  Don't  let  them 
shove  off  without  me.' 

In  the  darkness  of  the  alleyway  he  found  Olivia. 
He  could  see  her  great  eyes  in  the  oval  of  her  face. 
She  was  trembling. 

'  Well,  Olivia,'  he  said  gravely.  He  took  her 
hands  in  his,  wondering,  dully,  if  he  would  ever 
see  her  again.     '  I'm  just  off,  Olivia.' 

'  I  wanted  to  see  you,'  she  said,  in  a  shaking 
little  voice.  '  I  know  I've  only  a  minute.  I 
tried  last  night.  I -want  to  thank  you,  Charles. 
You've  been  good.  You've  been  very  good  to 
me.  Whether  you  succeed.  Or  don't  succeed.  I 
mean  now.  On  shore.  I.  I  thank  you.  Thank 
you.     God  keep  you.' 

'  You,  too,  Olivia.' 

He  felt  that  this  was  the  supreme  moment  of  his 
life,  this  moment  in  the  dark,  with  the  forms  of  sea- 
men passing  across  the  door,  and  the  white,  beloved 
face  half  seen,  strained  up  towards  him.  He  knew 
that  he  might  kiss  her  face.  Their  souls  were  very 
near  together,  nearer,  he  knew,  than,  they  would 
ever  again  be.  There  was  the  beloved  face  near  his ; 
there  was  his  reward,  after  all  these  days,  after  all 
this  wandering  the  world. 

^  Good-bye,  Olivia.' 

She  did  not  answer,  but  her  hands  pressed  his 
hands  to  her  side  for  a  moment. 
2  A  353 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  We  shall  be  back  in  a  few  hours,  Olivia/ 

*Ah,  not  that.  Not  that,'  she  said,  shuddering. 
*  Never  that  again.' 

'  Perhaps,  Olivia,  he  may  be  with  us.' 

'  No,'  she  said  faintly. 

'  I  must  go  now,  Olivia.     Good-bye.' 

'  Good-bye,'  she  murmured.  '  God  keep  you, 
Charles.' 

He  knew  that  he  might  kiss  her  face  ;  but  would 
not.  He  knew  that  it  was  the  mood  and  the 
moment  which  brought  them  thus  together.  She 
should  never  reproach  herself.  He  did  not  love  for 
pay.  He  pressed  her  hands  for  an  instant.  '  Good- 
bye then,'  he  said  lightly. 

'Thank  you,'  she  said,  so  lowly  that  he  could 
hardly  hear  her. 

He  knew  that  she  stood  there,  leaning  against 
the  bulkhead  in  the  dark,  long  after  he  had  reached 
the  deck.  It  was  like  waking  from  a  dream  to 
come  on  deck  again. 

'  Good-bye,  Cammock,'  he  said,  putting  his 
emotion  from  him.  'We've  got  our  bearings. 
Don't  stand  further  in  for  half  an  hour.  If  any- 
thing happens.  Well.  We've  talked  that  out. 
Haven't  we  }     Good-bye,  Edward.' 

'  Good-bye.  Look  here,  Charles.  Here  are  my 
pistols.     I  should  like  you  to  have  them.' 

'Very  well,'  he  said.  'Thanks.  How  do  you 
put  them  on  } '  He  slung  the  pistol-belt  over  his 
shoulder,  in  the  sea-style.  '  Good-bye,'  he  said 
again.     '  Look  after  her.' 

He  passed  quickly  down  the  ladder  to  the  wait- 
ing canoas,  which  still  dragged  at  the  gangway  with 
their  freights  of  armed  men.     A  canoa  was  pulling 

354 


The   END 

towards  them  out  of  the  night ;  her  oars  stroked  the 
sea  into  flame.  Gleams  of  flame  broadened  at  her 
bows.  Little  bright  sparks  scattered  from  the  oar- 
blades  as  the  rowers  feathered. 

'  Is  that  you,  Captain  Margaret } '  said  Pain's 
voice.  'I've  sent  Tucket's  party  on  ahead.  They've 
got  a  mile  further  to  pull  than  we  got.  We're  all 
ready  ahead  there.  You're  all  ready  and  loaded, 
and  your  guns  flinted  } ' 

'  Yes.     All  ready  here,  Captain  Pain.' 

'  Your  oars  are  in  grummets,  ain't  they  ^ ' 

'  Yes,  all  of  them.' 

'And  you've  all  got  white  scarves  on  your  arms.? 
Right.     The  word  is  "  Up  with  her."  ' 

' "  Up  with  her."  You  hear  that,  all  of  you  } 
The  word  is  "  Up  with  her." ' 

'  Up  with  her,'  the  men  repeated.  '  We'll  rally 
her  up  for  a  full  due.' 

'We'll  shove  ahead,  then,  cap,'  said  Captain  Pain. 
'  If  any  man  speaks  above  a  whisper,  mind,  we'll 
deal  with  him  after.' 

'  Silence  in  the  boats,'  said  Margaret.  '  On  a 
morning  so  still  as  this  we  may  be  heard  a  couple 
of  miles  off.  Sound  goes  a  long  way  over  water. 
Remember,  all  hands.  No  looting.  There's  to  be 
no  looting.  After  the  city's  taken,  we  shall  hold  it 
to  ransom.  After  the  fight,  the  trumpeter  here 
will  sound  the  assembly  in  the  Plaza.  You  will 
all  fall  in  there.     Understand  } ' 

'  Are  you  ready  in  the  bows  there  } ' 

'  All  ready,  sir.' 

'  Shove  off.  Give  way  together.  Make  it  long, 
stroke  oars.' 

'  Long  and  lairy,  sir.* 

355 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  We'll  follow  you,  Captain  Pain/ 

'Right,'  came  the  voice  out  of  the  darkness. 
The  hulk  of  the  Broken  Heart  fell  away  into  the 
night.  The  ripple  of  flame  at  her  bows  died  astern. 
The  boats  drew  up  into  order.  Pain's  canoa  leading, 
the  other  fourteen  following  close  behind,  two  and 
two  together.  There  was  silence  in  all  the  boats, 
a  silence  like  the  hush  in  a  theatre.  The  wash 
of  the  hundred  oars,  and  the  slow  breathing  of  the 
rowers,  was  all  that  could  be  heard.  All  that  could 
be  seen  was  the  advancing  oily  swell  of  the  water, 
the  gleam  where  the  oars  dipped,  the  track  of  the 
great  stars  dancing  on  the  swell.  Dimly  one  could 
see  the  other  boats.  One  could  see  the  transom 
of  Pain's  boat,  a  ghostly  oval,  dying  away  ahead, 
but  never  quite  gone.  Far  in  front,  seeming  slowly 
to  climb  higher,  was  the  blackness  of  the  shore, 
from  which,  very  faintly,  came  the  roll  of  the  surf. 
So  they  rowed  on,  in  the  darkness,  pausing  some- 
times to  change  their  rowers,  two  hundred  men, 
going  to  the  presence  of  death. 

Their  first  real  sight  of  the  shore  was  a  twinkle 
of  fire  upon  the  beach,  below  the  city.  Some  in- 
fected clothes  had  been  set  on  fire  there  the  night 
before.  The  fire  had  smouldered  all  night,  and 
had  then  broken  out,  in  little  leaping  tongues, 
lighting  the  town's  south  gate.  Those  in  the  boat 
wondered  when  they  saw  it,  thinking  that  Indians 
must  be  camped  there,  or  travellers  from  Covenas, 
perhaps,  arrived  after  the  shutting  of  the  gates. 
There  was  some  anxiety  lest  it  should  be  a  signal  ; 
but  the  flames,  lighting  up  the  beach,  showed  them 
no  watchers,  and  no  answering  signal  shone  in  the 
south-west,  either  from  shore  or  sea.    They  learned 

356 


The   END 

from  the  fire  that  they  were  pointing  too  near 
to  the  city.  They  swung  off  four  points,  and 
rowed  to  the  south-east,  into  the  shallow  water  off 
the  mouth  of  the  Pesquero. 

They  landed  about  three  miles  from  the  town, 
and  at  once  formed  for  action.  Some  Indian 
scouts  led  the  party,  then  came  Margaret  with  a 
dozen  axemen,  all  carrying  powder-kegs,  for  the 
destruction  of  the  gate.  The  Broken  Heart  men 
formed  the  vanguard.  Pain's  men  followed,  in 
rough  order.  The  boats,  with  a  boat-guard  of 
thirty  or  forty  men,  some  of  whom  were  leeches, 
pulled  out  into  the  gulf,  to  prepare  lint  and  salves 
for  the  hurt.  The  landing  party  looked  to  their 
firearms.  There  was  a  little  confusion  and  splash- 
ing, owing  to  the  narrowness  of  the  beach,  which 
forced  some  of  them  to  stand  in  the  sea.  In  a  few 
minutes  they  were  all  ready.  They  set  forward, 
as  silently  as  they  could,  keeping  a  fast  walk,  lest 
Tucket's  men,  now  hidden  among  rocks  a  mile  to 
the  north  of  the  town,  should  grow  weary  of 
waiting.  It  was  still  dark  night  about  them  ;  but 
they  knew  from  the  faintness  of  the  wind  that  it 
was  near  dawn.  The  macaws  were  waking  in  the 
forest.  Strange  cries,  strange  primeval  noises, 
sounded  in  the  forest.  There  were  stealthy  patter- 
ings,  quick  scuttering  droppings,  as  some  animal 
brushed  among  the  scrub,  knocking  off  the  dew. 
The  Indian  who  walked  by  Margaret  knew  what 
these  noises  meant.  He  paused  at  each  sound,  as 
though  to  make  sure  that  they  were  really  what 
they  seemed.  A  chicaly-chicaly  made  her  sweet, 
sharp  cry,  from  somewhere  ahead.  It  touched 
Margaret  to  the  heart  ;  it  was  so  like  the  tolling  of 

357 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

a  cuckoo.  The  Indian  bent  his  head  back  and 
replied,  so  exactly  that  the  bird  answered.  Mar- 
garet had  never  before  heard  this  done  ;  though 
he  had  read  of  it.  He  wondered,  as  he  marched, 
if  all  knowledge  ranked  alike,  if  all  power,  all 
imagination,  ranked  alike,  and  whether  this  Indian, 
who  could  apprehend  the  natures  of  all  these 
creatures  in  the  wood,  were  not  really  a  finer 
product  than  himself  He  could  not  imitate  a 
chicaly-chicaly,  he  could  not  raise  the  devil,  he 
could  not  see  a  three-days'-old  track  on  stones. 
He  wished  that  in  the  march  to  a  full  life  one  had 
not  to  forget  so  much.  One  should  have  all  the 
powers,  all  the  savage  powers  even,  one  should  be 
a  divine  spirit  of  apprehension,  one  should  inform 
the  whole  world,  feeling  the  pismire's  want  as  keenly 
as  the  saint's  ecstasy.  One  should  be  able  to  ap- 
prehend the  wild  things,  the  things  of  the  wood,  as 
well  as  the  spirit  of  a  poet  in  his  divine  moment. 
True  life  is  to  be  alive  in  every  fibre  to  the  divine 
in  all  things.  He  wondered  whether  the  Indians 
communed  with  the  beasts,  getting  from  them 
something  which  the  white  men  ignored  ;  coming, 
through  them,  to  secrets  unknown  to  white  men, 
secrets  of  nature,  of  the  universal  spirit,  of  the 
spirit  which  binds  the  herds  of  peccary,  and  slinks 
in  the  wild  cat,  and  sings  in  the  bell-voiced  golden- 
comb.  He  thought  little  of  the  business  in  hand. 
His  mind  was  blank  about  it.  All  that  he  could 
think  of  the  coming  struggle  was  that  he  must 
bring  back  Stukeley,  find  him  and  bring  him  back, 
or  never  go  back  himself.  The  men  were  all  round 
him,  some  of  them  even  ahead  of  him  by  this  time, 
for,    going  fast  as    they   were,   often   up   to   their 

358 


The  END 

knees  in  the  sea,  It  was  impossible  to  keep  good 
order. 

After  half  an  hour's  march  they  forded  the 
Arroyo  Francesco  and  came  to  the  broader  sands. 
Here  they  all  marched  in  the  wash  ;  for  now  they 
were  within  twelve  minutes  of  the  town.  They 
could  see  the  dark  mass  of  the  town  ahead  of  them, 
a  city  of  sleepers,  no  light  burning,  no  one  stirring, 
only  a  little  fire  near  the  gate,  and  a  dog  baying  in 
the  Plaza.  The  dawn  was  beginning  to  change  the 
darkness  ;  it  was  growing  lighter.  The  screams  of 
the  macaws  set  the  monkeys  swearing.  The  men 
halted,  formed  into  order,  and  hurried  on  for 
another  half-mile.  They  paused  again,  only  four 
hundred  yards  from  the  walls.  The  pioneers  with 
the  powder-kegs  made  ready  for  their  dash  to  the 
gate.  The  fusemen,  carrying  many  yards  of  match, 
now  lit  their  fuses  in  the  scrub.  The  army  marked 
time,  feeling  the  chill  of  the  dawn,  waiting  for 
Tucket  to  begin.  Margaret  could  feel  that  many 
of  his  men  were  nervous,  waiting  like  that,  with 
the  light  growing  above  them.  They  had  timed  the 
attack  well ;  but  to  stand,  waiting,  while  the  precious 
moments  passed,  was  hard.  Very  soon  the  sentinels 
would  see  them.  A  low  growl  of  discontent  mut- 
tered up  and  down  the  ranks.  Voices  urged  Mar- 
garet to  attack  at  once,  without  waiting  for  Tucket. 
'  We  shall  be  seen.'  *  What's  the  good  of  waiting 
here  } '  '  Why,  Lord  love  us,  we  could  have  took 
the  town  by  this  time.'  'Shove  ahead.'  'This  is 
a  bit  of  "  up  with  her,"  I  don't  think,  waiting  'ere.' 
There  was  a  tendency  to  edge  forward,  to  press 
towards  the  front,  to  see  what  was  going  on. 
Margaret   urged   them   back,  and   passed  word  to 

359 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Pain  to  keep  his  rear  ranks  from  firing  into  the 
backs  of  the  storming  party.  The  rear  ranks  were 
the  eager  ranks,  as  they  always  are.  The  front 
ranks  are  nearest  to  the  bullets ;  they  have  their 
minds  engaged. 

Lighter  it  grew.  There  was  colour  in  the  sky 
now  ;  the  men  were  surging  forward,  swearing 
that  they  would  wait  no  more.  Then  from  far 
away,  on  the  farther  wall  of  the  town,  a  cry  arose, 
a  cry  like  a  death  cry,  a  cry  of  alarm.  Two  shots 
followed  ;  then  yells,  shrieks,  oaths,  the  roar  of 
many  guns.  '  Up  with  her.  Tucket,'  said  the 
waiting  men.  Cries  sounded  within  the  town,  dogs 
yelped,  one  or  two  women  screamed,  as  the  firing 
increased.  '  Come  on,'  Margaret  called  to  the  pioneers. 
They  splashed  out  of  the  water  on  to  the  sands, 
and  started  towards  the  city  at  a  run.  As  they  ran, 
they  heard  Pain  keeping  back  the  ranks  till  the 
charge  should  have  been  fired.  The  feet  splashed 
behind  them  slowly,  growing  fainter.  The  fire  on 
the  beach  grew  brighter,  they  were  passing  it  ;  the 
walls  were  before  them,  only  a  hundred  yards  away. 
*  Against  the  door,'  he  said,  panting.  '  Against  the 
hinges.  One  keg  spilled  below.'  The  town  was 
aroused  now.  They  could  hear  the  cries  and 
hurry.  Still  no  sign  came  from  the  walls.  *  Sen- 
tinel's asleep,'  said  one  of  the  men.  '  There,'  said 
another.  '  Up  with  her.  Up  with  her.  We're 
seen.'  A  m.an  showed  upon  the  wall  by  the  gate. 
'  Ahi,'  he  screamed.  '  Piratas.  Piratas.  Piratas. 
Cuidado.  Cuidado.'  He  fired  his  gun  into  the 
air ;  the  flash  shot  up  like  the  flash  of  a  blast-charge. 
There  came  cries  and  a  noise  of  running.  A  few 
heads  showed.     The  wall  spouted  fire  in  a  volley. 

360 


The  END 

They  were  up  against  the  wall,  against  the  iron- 
plated  door,  piling  the  kegs  against  the  hinges, 
tamping  them  down  with  sods  and  stones.  Mar- 
garet snatched  one  keg  and  spilled  it  along  the 
door-sill.  '  There,'  he  said.  '  There.  Now  your 
fuse,  fuseman.'  The  quick-match  was  thrust  into 
a  keg.  *  Up  along  the  walls,  boys.  Quick.  Scatter. 
Pronto.'  He  thrust  them  sideways.  They  saw 
what  he  wanted.  When  the  imaginations  are  alert 
there  is  little  need  for  speech.  No  man  could  have 
heard  him.  The  racket  in  the  town  was  uproar 
like  earthquake.  The  whole  wall  above  them  was 
lit  with  fire  spurts.  Mud  and  plaster  were  tinkling 
in  a  rain  upon  them.  They  ran  fifty  yards  like 
hares,  paying  out  the  quick-match.  ^  Now,'  said 
Margaret.  The  match  flashed.  A  snake  of  fire 
rippled  from  them.  They  saw  the  shards  of  pots 
gleam,  then  vanish.  They  saw  old  bones,  old 
kettles,  all  the  refuse  below  the  walls.  *  Down,* 
he  shouted.  '  Down.'  They  flung  themselves 
down.  The  beach  to  their  left  flashed,  as  the 
pirates  fired  at  the  wall. 

There  came  a  roar,  a  rush  of  fire,  a  shaking  of 
the  land.  Mud,  brick,  stone,  shards  of  iron  and 
wood,  all  the  ruin  of  the  gate,  crashed  among  them, 
flying  far  among  the  trees,  thumping  them  on  their 
backs  as  they  lay.  After  the  roar  there  was  a  dis- 
mayed silence.  A  wail  of  a  hurt  man  sounded,  as 
though  the  wrecked  gate  cried.  Then  with  a  volley 
the  privateers  stormed  in.  From  where  he  lay, 
Margaret  could  watch  them  plainly  ;  the  dawn  had 
broken.  He  saw  them  charging,  tripping  in  the 
sand,  their  gun-barrels  glinting.  An  Indian  led 
them,  a  screaming  Indian,  who  danced  and  spun 

361 


C ATTAIN  MARGARET 

round,  waving  his  machete.  *  Lie  still/  he  shouted 
to  his  pioneers.  '  Let  them  pass.  They'll  shoot 
you  down.  Lie  still.'  With  yells  and  shots  the 
storming  party  swept  up  the  ruin.  '  Up  with  her/ 
they  shouted.  '  Up  with  her.'  They  were  clamber- 
ing over  the  wreck,  tripping,  stumbling,  kneeling 
to  fire,  clubbing  at  the  guard.  '  Now,'  said  Mar- 
garet, drawing  his  sword.  They  rose  up  from  their 
nest  among  the  tip.  They  were  with  their  fellows, 
they  were  climbing  the  heaped  stone,  amid  smoke 
and  oaths  and  fire-lit  faces.  Margaret  was  inside 
Tolu.     The  south  wall  was  won. 

The  land-breeze,  very  faint  now,  drifted  the 
smoke  slowly.  He  could  see  little.  He  could  see 
in  glimpses  the  whitewashed  houses,  the  line  of  the 
south  road,  a  man  with  his  back  to  a  wall,  a  woman 
fallen,  figures  rushing.  He  could  see  enough  to 
know  that  the  enemy  were  making  no  stand. 
He  ran  on  up  the  road  to  the  Plaza,  one  of  a  mob. 
Windows  opened  above  him.  People  fired  from 
the  windows.  Women  were  flinging  pots,  tiles, 
braziers.  Some  one  had  begun  to  ring  the  alarm 
bell  in  the  church.  The  broken  clang  sounded  out 
above  the  screams  and  the  firing.  Now  it  was  all 
clear  before  him.  He  was  in  the  Plaza,  shouting  to 
his  mob  to  form.  There  in  front  of  him  the  troops 
were  mustering.  They  were  running  from  their 
quarters,  half  clad,  in  rags,  just  as  they  had  started 
from  sleep.  Heavy  fire  was  rolling  at  the  north 
wall.  Troops  were  running  thither.  In  the  centre 
of  the  Plaza,  about  a  cotton  tree,  a  score  of 
Spaniards  were  forming  in  line.  A  halberdier  was 
dressing  them.  They  stood  firm,  handling  their 
guns,  hearkening  to  their  capitan.     Margaret  saw 

362 


The    END 

them  clearly,  and  praised  them  in  his  heart  for  the 
flower  of  soldiery.  They  were  of  the  old  Spanish 
foot,  the  finest  troops  in  the  world.  Even  as  he 
looked  he  saw  them  falling  forward.  He  was 
among  them.  His  sword  jarred  him  to  the 
shoulder  as  it  struck  on  a  gun-barrel.  He  saw 
them  about  him.  They  were  breaking.  They 
were  gathering  into  clumps.  They  were  being  swept 
into  the  mob  of  citizens  flying  to  the  east  gate. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  newly  risen  sun  showed 
him  a  captured  town.  In  the  streets,  in  the  Plaza, 
everywhere,  lay  the  dead  and  dying.  They  lay  in 
heaps  in  some  parts.  All  the  clutter  and  wreck  of 
war,  the  clouts,  the  cast  arms,  the  gear  flung  away 
by  the  fleeing,  lay  littered  in  the  sands.  The  walls 
were  chipped  and  starred  with  bullet  marks.  The 
stink  of  powder  was  everywhere.  Women  still 
screamed.  Wounded  men  wailed  where  they  lay, 
with  the  pitiful  whimpering  cry,  like  that  of  a 
beaten  hound,  which  sickens  all  who  hear  it  of  the 
glory  of  war.  Firing  was  still  going  on  ;  but  the 
fight  was  over  ;  the  town  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
privateers. 

Margaret  found  himself  at  the  east  gate  with 
Pain.  About  a  dozen  of  the  crew  of  the  Bro\en 
Heart  stood  by  him,  waiting  for  orders.  He  took 
their  names,  and  told  them  off  to  look  out  at  the 
city  gates,  and  to  spike  the  guns  on  the  sea-wall. 

'  I'm  going  to  the  Governor's  house  there,  to 
look  for  my  friend,'  he  said.  '  Where's  my  trum- 
peter }  Sound  the  assembly,  trumpet.  Muster 
your  men,  will  you,  Captain  Pain  1 ' 

The  assembly  sounded.  The  men  fell  in, 
answering  to  their  names.     The  boat-guard  with 

363 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

the  doctors  landed.  The  captains  checked  oiff  their 
lists,  scanning  the  ranks  closely  whenever  a  man 
failed  to  answer.  The  men  were  powder-black- 
ened ;  some  of  them  were  wounded,  many  were 
cut  about  the  head.  They  sent  the  boat-guard  with 
the  doctors  to  search  the  streets  for  the  dead  and 
hurt.  Thirty-three  men  were  missing,  all  of  them, 
save  one,  from  the  party  which  had  stormed  the 
south  wall. 

*  Strengthen  the  guards  at  the  gates,'  Margaret 
said.  '  Captain  Tucket,  you  take  the  north  gate. 
I'll  see  to  the  east.  Captain  Pain,  will  you  send  a 
dozen  to  the  south  }     Keep  a  sharp  look  out.' 

He  picked  his  own  guard  and  sent  them  off  to 
their  duty.  The  other  gate-guards  fell  out  unwill- 
ingly. Some  of  the  privateers  were  eating  their 
breakfasts  in  the  ranks. 

'  I'm  going  to  the  Governor's  house  now,'  he 
said  to  Pain.  '  Call  me  at  once  if  the  Spaniards 
send  a  trumpet.  No  straggling.  No  looting, 
mind.'  As  he  turned  towards  the  Governor's  house 
he  heard  the  men  behind  him  snigger.  He  heard 
a  voice  ask  Pain  if  this  was  to  be  the  new  rule, 
now  that  Springer's  Key  was  full  of  college  gents. 
Pain  told  the  man  to  take  a  severe  turn. 

Margaret  drew  his  pistols  as  he  came  near  the 
house  ;  for  though  most  of  the  inhabitants  had 
fled,  a  few  poor  men  and  slaves  still  lounged  in  the 
streets,  having  nothing  to  lose.  A  single  man, 
richly  dressed,  might  tempt  these  gangrels.  He 
hailed  a  negro,  who  sat  in  the  sun  in  the  Plaza, 
sucking  a  wound  in  his  wrist. 

'Ho,  muchacho,'  he  said  in  his  schoolboy 
Spanish.     '  Donde  esta  la  casa  del  Gobernador  } ' 

364 


The    END 

The  negro  waved  his  unhurt  hand  towards  the 
house  with  a  gesture  full  of  dignity.  Then  he 
continued  to  suck  his  wound,  like  a  dog  licking  a 
hurt  paw. 

'  Gracias,'  Margaret  answered.  *  Pero  el  hombre 
Ingles.     Dondeesta?' 

Again  the  negro  waved  his  hand  towards  the 
house,  pausing  in  his  suction  exactly  like  a  dog. 
'  He,*  he  said  ;  then  bent  to  suck  again. 

The  house  of  the  Governor  fronted  the  Plaza. 
It  was  a  big  house,  with  a  patio.  The  lower  story 
had  no  outer  windows,  no  door.  Margaret  had  to 
climb  the  stone  steps  to  the  balcony,  where  a 
chained  monkey  leaped  up  and  down  in  the  sun, 
between  bites  at  a  plantain.  The  door  leading 
to  the  inner  part  of  the  house  lay  open,  just  as  the 
fugitives  had  left  it.  A  woman's  shawl  was  on  the 
floor.  One  runner  had  upset  the  monkey's  saucer 
of  water.  A  chair  had  been  upset.  As  Margaret 
entered  the  house,  with  his  pistols  cocked,  he  saw 
something  beneath  the  chair,  something  bright, 
which  he  took  to  be  a  snake.  It  was  the  scabbard 
of  a  sword,  flung  aside  in  a  soldier's  hurry.  Mar- 
garet, pausing  on  the  threshold  to  listen,  wondered 
if  Stukeley  had  flung  it  there.  He  listened  in- 
tently, expecting  to  see  Stukeley  coming  from 
the  darkness  of  the  corridor.  His  mind  was  busy 
with  the  thought  of  Stukeley.  What  was  he  to 
say  to  him  }  What  was  he  to  do  to  him  }  Sup- 
pose Stukeley  came  out  fighting  }  *  I  must  bring 
him  back,'  he  repeated.  'I  must,  bring  him  back. 
He  must  be  brought  back.'  A  step  sounded  on 
the  stairs  behind  him.  It  was  West,  one  of  the 
Broken  Heart's  seamen. 

365 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  Beg  pardon,  sir,*  the  man  said,  '  may  I  come 
with  you  ?  There's  maybe  some  of  these  Dons 
in  the  house/ 

*  Yes,'  Margaret  answered.     '  Listen.' 

They  listened  in  the  doorway  for  a  moment ;  but 
the  house  was  still,  save  for  the  chinking  of  the 
monkey's  chain. 

'  Gone,  sir,  I  guess,*  said  West. 

'  Come  on,  then,'  Margaret  said.  ^  Cock  your 
pistols  and  come  on.' 

They  passed  through  the  littered  hall  into  the 
left-hand  corridor.  The  jalousied  shutters  were 
shut  on  the  patio  side  ;  but  the  doors  of  some 
of  the  rooms  were  open,  giving  light  to  the  passage. 
It  was  a  barely  furnished  house,  hung  with  very  old 
Spanish  leather,  ant-eaten  and  mothed  and  mouldy, 
falling  to  pieces.  In  the  first  room,  a  sleeping- 
room,  the  mosquito-nets  had  been  torn  from  the 
cots,  and  lay  wrecked  on  the  floor  with  a  silver 
chocolate  service.  In  another,  a  chair  stood  against 
the  wall,  where  a  man  had  stood  to  snatch  arms 
from  a  trophy.  In  another  sleeping-room  they 
found  the  clothes  of  a  man  and  woman  by  the  cot- 
sides,  just  as  they  had  been  laid  the  night  before, 
when  the  couple  retired.  It  was  like  being  in  the 
presence  of  death  to  walk  that  house.  It  was 
as  though  they  were  looking  on  the  corpse  of  a 
house,  on  a  house  dug  up  from  the  sands,  the  life 
of  it  gone  and  forgotten,  only  the  pathetic  husks 
left,  that  had  once  been  helps  to  men.  They 
opened  a  shutter  and  looked  out  upon  the  patio.  A 
goat  was  tethered  there,  crying  to  be  milked. 
They  heard  the  stamping  of  horses.  One  horse 
was   scraping  with   his   forefeet  against    the    floor 

366 


The  END 

of  his  stall.  There  was  no  sign  of  Stukeley 
there,  no  trace  of  him,  nothing  to  mark  his 
presence. 

'  Now  the  other  corridor,'  Margaret  said.  They 
retraced  their  steps,  walking  on  tiptoe,  listening 
intently.  The  first  room  in  the  other  corridor  was 
a  dining-room,  furnished  with  heavy  Spanish  fur- 
niture of  the  great  period.  A  lute  lay  on  the 
table,  among  wineglasses  half  full  of  wine,  a  box 
of  Peruvian  suckets,  a  box  of  candied  quinces,  a 
dish  of  avocat  pears.  Some  one  had  been  playing 
the  lute,  the  night  before.  The  unknown  player 
had  fitted  a  new  string.  The  broken  string  lay 
among  the  litter  where  it  had  been  thrown.  Flies 
were  black  among  the  suckets.  The  air  smelt 
of  the  stale  gums  which  had  burnt  out  before 
a  crucifix  on  the  wall.  A  shaft  of  sunlight  came 
through  a  broken  shutter.  The  dust  quivered 
in  it.  On  the  floor,  in  its  road  of  glory,  a  column 
of  ants  marched,  stumbling  over  crumbs.  There 
was  much  silver  in  the  room.  Over  the  sideboard 
was  a  Zurbaran,  too  full  of  personality  to  be 
religious.  Margaret  looked  at  it,  sighing,  thinking 
that  only  lesser  artists  could  save  their  souls. 
There  was  no  trace  of  Stukeley  here.  ^  Let's  get 
out,*  he  said.     '  He's  not  here.' 

'There's  three  more  rooms,'  said  West.  They 
entered  the  Governor's  office. 

It  was  a  barer  room  than  the  others.  It  con- 
tained a  table  and  a  few  chairs.  There  were  papers 
on  the  table  ;  a  locked  account  book,  a  list  of  resi- 
dent Indians,  a  list  of  citizens  capable  of  bearing 
arms,  a  diary  in  cipher.  Under  the  table,  in  a 
coffer,  were  more  account  books,  Cammock's  porto- 

367 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

lano,  and  a  copy  of  the  same,  traced  from  the 
originals,  now  nearly  finished. 

'  You  see.  West,'  said  Margaret.  ^  You  bear 
witness  that  I  take  these  two  books  } ' 

'Yes,  sir,'  said  West.  He  walked  over  to  a 
corner  and  picked  something  up  from  a  chair. 

'  Isn't  this  Mr.  Stukeley's,  sir  .? ' 

'  Yes,'  said  Margaret,  crossing  over  swiftly. 
'  It's  his  hat.     And  there's  his  sword-belt.' 

They  stood  together,  looking  at  the  things,  won- 
dering how  lately  the  owner  had  flung  them  there,  as 
he  came  in,  hot,  for  the  onzas.  They  felt  him  to  be 
very  near  them  there.  It  was  as  though  he  were 
coming  sneering  towards  them,  his  fine  teeth  show- 
ing. His  very  words  came  into  Margaret's  mind, 
with  their  exact  inflections.  '  Found  much  }  Eh  ^ ' 
Those  were  the  words  he  would  use. 

'  Hark,'  said  West  suddenly.     They  listened. 

'  What  did  you  think  you  heard  } ' 

'  There's  some  one  speaking  in  the  next  room,  sir.' 

'  Listen.' 

In  the  hush,  they  heard  a  sound  like  a  sob,  a 
low  murmur  of  words  ;  then  a  rustling,  chinking 
sound. 

'  Like  some  one  praying,'  West  said. 

'Careful  now,'  said  Margaret.  'Come  on  after  me.' 
They  crept  from  the  office  on  tiptoe,  their  pistols 
ready.  In  the  corridor  a  board  creaked  beneath 
them.  They  paused  guiltily,  straining  their  ears  to 
listen.  They  heard  some  one  cross  the  room  quietly. 
Then  the  door  was  flung  open,  letting  a  glare  of 
light  into  the  corridor.  A  priest  stood  before 
them,  holding  up  a  crucifix.  Within  was  a  bed. 
A  woman  knelt  by  the  bed.     Some  one  lay  on  the 

368 


The  END 

bed,  covered  with  a  cloth.  Margaret  raised  his 
hand,  and  the  priest  stepped  back,  looking  at  their 
faces  curiously. 

'  Donde  esta  el  caballero  ingles  } '  Margaret  asked. 
*•  El  senor  Stukeley  ^ ' 

A  faint  smile  showed  upon  the  priest* s  mouth. 

*  Here,'  he  said,  in  good  English.  He  twitched 
back  the  bed-cloth  reverently,  to  show  the  body  of 
Stukeley  lying  dead.  The  face  was  a  dull  yellow, 
the  mouth  was  inflamed.  There  was  no  need  for 
further  words. 

*■  Vomito,'  said  the  priest. 

'  Yes,'  Margaret  said,  uncovering.     '  Vomito.' 

*  This  morning,'  the  priest  said. 

The  woman  rose  from  the  bedside,  as  though  to 
drive  them  away.  She  was  a  black-eyed,  hawk- 
nosed  woman,  of  a  crude  and  evil  beauty.  She  was 
dressed  in  red  and  brown,  in  an  outlandish  style.  She 
spoke  in  gasps,  dreadful  to  hear  ;  using  broken  Eng- 
lish, laced  with  oaths  and  Spanish  words.  '  Damn,' 
she  said.    *  Damn  perros.    Cabrones  de  piratas.' 

'  De  quien  es  } '  Margaret  stammered,  meaning 
*  Who  are  you  } '     He  had  no  gift  of  tongues. 

'  Mrs.  Stukeley,'  the  priest  said.  ^  The  widow. 
His  wife.' 

'  Me  Anna,'  said  the  woman.     *  Me  'is  wife.' 

Margaret  bowed  ;  words  seemed  useless.  He 
was  only  conscious  of  the  horror  of  it.  He  had 
not  been  prepared  for  this.  He  had  sat  at  meat  so 
many  times  with  this  corpse.  He  had  seen  him  so 
often,  full  of  life  and  health,  going  with  a  laugh  to 
sin,  in  the  pride  of  the  flesh.  Now  a  little  thing, 
the  bite  of  a  fly,  no  more,  had  brought  him  to  a 
death  among  strangers,  in  this  low  cot  in  the  wilds, 
2  B  369 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

with  his  beauty  turned  to  horror,  and  his  strength, 
if  anything,  a  fiery  chain  upon  his  soul.  There  he 
lay,  under  an  Indian  cotton,  gone  to  his  reward  so 
soon.  Margaret  had  hated  him.  He  shuddered  now 
to  think  how  he  had  hated  him.  Looking  at  him  as 
he  lay  there,  in  all  the  hideousness  of  death,  he  felt 
the  remorse  which  a  death  brings.  He  felt  ashamed, 
as  though  he  had  struck  the  corpse  by  hating  him 
whom  it  had  covered.  ^  It  was  my  fault,'  he  said 
to  himself.  '  It  should  have  been  otherwise.  One 
ought  to  live  with  this  before  one.'  He  saw  where 
he  had  acted  hastily,  where  he  had  failed.  He 
knew  all  that  he  might  have  done.  What  moved 
him  most  was  the  thought  that  Olivia  had  loved  this 
man,  had  loved  him  tenderly,  and  that  he,  Olivia's 
lover,  had  never  known  his  character,  had  never 
guessed  what  it  was  in  him  which  was  beautiful  to 
her.  Now  he  would  never  know.  Standing  by  the 
side  of  the  corpse,  he  tasted  all  the  bitterness  of  one 
who  has  failed  to  apprehend  another,  and  learns  of 
his  failure  too  late.  Stukeley  was  dead  now,  the 
old  life  was  dead  now.  He  would  to  God  that  he 
were  dead  in  Stukeley's  place,  and  that  the  old  life 
might  be  lived  again.  He  would  to  God  that 
this  man's  passage  to  death  had  been  made 
pleasanter.  He  blamed  himself.  He  was  touched 
and  humbled  almost  to  tears.  *  If  I  had  only 
understood,'  he  thought,  'you  would  not  have 
cast  yourself  away  thus.'  Now  he  had  this  to  tell 
Olivia. 

'You  were  not  what  I  thought,  Stukeley,'  he 
murmured  aloud,  looking  down  at  the  face.  '  You 
were  not  what  I  thought.  You  won  her  love. 
You  were  her  chosen.' 

370 


The   END 

'  My  God,'  he  added  to  himself,  '  you  won  her 
by  that  very  quality  of  certainty  which  made  you 
cast  her  aside.'  He  stood  there  trying  to  create, 
in  his  moment  of  tenderness,  fit  words  with  which 
to  tell  her,  words  which  might  comfort  her,  staying 
in  her  heart.  The  words  which  came  to  him  seemed 
blunt  and  cold.  The  only  help  that  he  could  give 
to  her  was  to  bury  this  part  of  her  with  all  reverent 
and  noble  rites. 

*  He  was  the  Governor's  secretary,'  said  the 
priest.  *  He  was  not  here  long.  Not  long  in  the 
country.     The  vomito  takes  the  new-comers.' 

'  Ah,'  said  Margaret,  starting.  '  How  well  you 
talk  English.  Look  here.  Come  aside  here.  We 
must  bury  him  at  once  ^ ' 

^  Before  the  sun,'  the  priest  said,  with  a  shudder. 

'  Where  is  the  burial-ground  } ' 

He  raised  his  hand  in  benediction  over  the 
corpse,  then  led  Margaret  out  of  the  room.  West 
followed  them,  reverent  and  awed,  speaking  in 
a  hushed  voice.  The  priest  led  them  by  a  back 
way  to  the  patio,  thence  by  a  postern  to  a  side 
street,  a  good  two  hundred  yards  from  the  house. 
The  burial-ground  was  hedged  with  stone,  over 
which  some  creepers  had  grown.  Little  green 
lizards  were  darting  among  the  creepers.  They 
glittered  like  cut  glass.  The  gate  of  the  cemetery 
swung  open  on  hinges  of  raw  hide.  When  they 
entered,  some  large  rats  scuttled  to  their  burrows 
among  the  graves. 

^  Much  sickness  here,'  said  the  priest.  '  It  is  not 
good  to  dig  deep  in  this  ground.' 

'  I  must  dig  this  grave  deep,'  Margaret  answered. 
*  Look  at  the  rats.' 

371 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

*  They  are  large/ the  priest  said.  'Much  sick- 
ness in  this  poor  town.' 

'  Where  can  I  find  a  spade  ? '  Margaret  asked, 

*  Who  knows  ? '  said  the  priest.  '  You  will  tell 
your  men  to  find  one  ?     Ah  } ' 

'  I  must  do  this  myself,'  he  answered. 

'  But   your    men  on   the  wall,'  said  the  priest. 

*  And  your  ship  there.     Ah  1 ' 

Margaret  looked  towards  the  west,  over  the  low 
sea-wall.  Some  of  his  men  were  spiking  the  guns 
on  the  platform.  He  could  hear  the  click  of  the 
malls  upon  the  spikes,  as  they  snapped  the  soft  iron 
flush  with  the  gun.  Beyond  them,  very  far  away, 
were  the  ships  ;  the  tide  and  the  land-wind  had  set 
them  out  to  sea  again. 

'  They  are  waiting  for  the  sea-breeze,*  said  the 
priest.     '  No  getting  in  till  chocolate.' 

*  No,'  said  Margaret.  '  Now  take  me,  please, 
to  find  a  spade.' 

'  You  are  not  a  privateer  } '  the  priest  asked. 
'  You  do  not  sack  us  ? ' 

'  No,'  he  answered.  '  I  am  not  a  pirate.  I 
demand  the  right  to  trade,  and  the  recognition 
of  Andria,  King  of  Darien.' 

'  Don  Andria,'  the  priest  said.  '  Ah  }  Don 
Andria,  the  King.     And  so  we  are  not  sacked.' 

'  Now  let  us  find  a  spade.' 

They  searched  for  half  an  hour  before  they 
found  a  spade. 

'  We  do  not  use  spades,'  the  priest  said.  '  We 
tickle  the  earth  with  our  toes  and  it  laughs  fruits 
for  us.' 

'I   will    lay    him    here,    West,'    Margaret    said. 

*  Looking  towards  England.' 

372 


The   END 

'  Sir,'  the  priest  said,  '  he  was  a  good  Catholic. 
He  must  look  towards  the  east/ 

'  Ah,'  said  Margaret.  *  And  his  wife  would  like 
that  ? ' 

*  Yes.  Ah,  his  wife,  sir.  Poor  child.  She  was 
only  married  six  weeks.' 

*  It  is  sad  for  her.  He  did  not  suffer  much, 
father  } ' 

'  111  for  four  days.  But  yesterday  he  was  better. 
Then  the  fever  grew  again.  As  it  does,  sir,  in 
some  cases.  The  blood  was  before  the  dawn. 
Like  a  child,  sir.  And  his  eyes  turned  upon  the 
Cross.' 

'  Then  I  will  dig  the  grave  here,'  Margaret  said. 

*  This  will  be  east  and  west  by  my  watch.'  He 
scratched  a  narrow  oblong  with  the  point  of  the 
spade. 

'  I'll  dig  the  grave  here,'  he  said. 

'  Not   you.     Not    in  the    sun,'  the  priest  said. 

*  There  is  very  much  sickness.    Your  men  will  dig.' 

*  I  shall  dig,'  he  answered.  He  felt  that  he 
was  burying  a  part  of  Olivia.  He  would  do  her 
that  service.  He  would  make  a  grave  for  that 
unworthy  part  of  her.  That  act  of  his  should  be 
a  part  of  his  penance  towards  the  dead  man's  ghost. 

*  It  is  very  bad  to  dig  this  ground,'  the  priest 
said.  '  It  is  dust  of  the  dead.  We  do  not  dig 
deep  except  for  an  Excellency.  You  see.  The 
rats.  Why  toil,  since  God  will  bring  them  to- 
gether at  the  Resurrection  ^ ' 

^This  is  an  evil  country,'  Margaret  answered, 
driving  the  spade  into  the  earth. 

'  There  is  fever  and  death.  Very  evil,'  said  the 
priest.     *  It  is   not  wholesome  to  be   in   the   sun, 

373 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

turning  the  earth,  before  chocolate.  I  will  go  to 
the  widow.* 

He  left  the  cemetery,  holding  a  handkerchief 
across  his  nose.  The  rats  in  their  burrow-mouths 
watched  him.  One  or  two  of  them  scuttled  to 
other  burrows.  They  seemed  to  play  a  game  of 
general  post,  with  Margaret  as  the  '  he.' 

^  Let  me  have  a  go  at  that  spade.  Captain  Mar- 
garet, sir,'  said  West. 

'  No.  I  must  do  this,'  he  answered.  '  It  is 
dangerous  at  the  top.  Perhaps  deeper  down  you 
shall  give  me  a  hand.  Gather  stones  from  the  wall. 
I  want  you  to  keep  away  from  me.  West.  This 
soil  is  full  of  infection.  Here  is  some  tobacco.  I 
want  you  to  smoke,  all  the  time  you  are  here.' 

^  No,  sir,'  said  West,  looking  uncomfortable. 
'  Not  just  now,  thank  you,  sir.' 

*It  will  keep  away  the  infection.    You  do  smoke  V 

*  Yes,  sir.  But  it  wouldn't  be  right,  sir,  nor  re- 
spectful to  Mrs.  Stukeley.' 

^Ah,'  said  Margaret,  feeling  himself  rebuked. 
He  dug  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence  ;  it  was  light, 
sandy  earth,  easily  shovelled. 

'  I  wish  you'd  let  me  do  that,  sir,'  said  West. 

« No.     Not  yet.  West.' 

*  He  was  a  big  man,  too,  sir.  He'd  'ave  been  a 
fine  big  man  if  he'd  taken  care  of  himself.' 

^  Yes,'  Margaret  answered.  '  He  was  a  beautiful 
figure.' 

'There's  a  lot  of  poor  fellows  killed,  sir,'  said 
West.  '  But  somehow  it  don't  come  'ome  like  this 
one  does.  That  yellow  look,  after  what  he  was. 
And  the  Spanish  lady.  She  wasn't  his  real  lady, 
sir.' 

374 


The  END 

'  No.     She  wasn't  his  real  lady/ 

So  they  talked  as  they  dug  turn  and  turn  about 
for  an  hour  and  a  half,  when  they  had  to  stop 
digging.  They  were  coming  to  water.  The  bottom 
of  the  grave  was  an  inch  or  two  deep  in  water. 

*■  We  can  go  no  further,'  Margaret  said.  *  Now 
we'll  get  stones.'  They  lined  the  bed  of  the  grave 
with  stones,  and  turned  to  the  house  for  the  body. 

The  priest  and  the  woman  had  laid  the  body  out. 
Margaret  ripped  down  one  of  the  long,  jalousied 
shutters  for  a  bier,  while  West  searched  in  the  patio 
for  rope.  An  old  Spanish  tapestry  of  the  death  ot 
Absalom  served  as  a  pall.  They  carried  Stukeley 
to  the  grave,  the  priest  preceding  them,  intoning 
the  burial  service.  Then,  very  reverently,  they 
lowered  him.  West  and  Margaret  went  aside  after 
this  and  gathered  a  heap  of  lilies  while  the  woman 
and  priest  prayed  together. 

'  Take  her  away,  father,'  Margaret  whispered. 
The  priest  led  the  woman  to  the  house.  She 
walked  like  one  stunned.  Margaret  and  West 
leaned  over  the  grave,  to  look  their  last  on 
Stukeley.  They  could  see  the  water  soaking  into 
the  linen,  and  above  that  the  frayed  body  of 
Absalom,  the  handsome  youth,  caught  in  the 
thicket,  as  he  rode.  The  town  was  noisy  beyond 
them,  two  hundred  yards  away.  Singing  and 
shouting  came  from  the  Plaza.  It  seemed  to  Mar- 
garet to  be  the  dirge  the  man  would  have  chosen, 
this  singing  and  shouting  of  men. 

*  Is  that  gentleman's  service  enough,  sir  ? '  West 
asked. 

*  Quite  enough,'  he  answered.  '  You  heard  him 
say  that  Mr.  Stukeley  had  changed  his  religion  ? ' 

375 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  I'd  feel  easier  if  you'd  say  a  few  words,  sir.' 

He  spoke  the  few  words.  Then  with  the  shovel 
he  began  to  fill  in  the  grave,  from  the  foot.  He 
placed  many  heavy  stones  among  the  earth,  so  that 
the  rats  might  be  foiled.  When  he  had  levelled 
the  surface  he  heaped  a  cairn  of  stones  at  the  head, 
and  laid  the  lilies  there.  He  went  to  a  neighbour- 
ing garden,  and  dug  up  an  arnotto  rose-bush,  to 
plant  upon  the  grave.  When  this  had  been 
planted,  the  rites  were  over,  he  could  do  no  more. 
They  stood  looking  down  at  the  grave  for  a 
moment,  before  they  left  the  graveyard.  The 
singing  was  loud  behind  them.  In  front  of  them, 
darkening  under  the  breeze,  was  the  bay,  with  the 
ships  and  sloops  running  in,  distant  some  two  or 
three  miles. 

*  Come,  West,'  Margaret  said.  '  I  must  see  after 
the  wounded.'  He  took  a  last  look  at  the  grave,  at 
the  already  drooping  lilies  and  dejected  rose-bush. 
'  Good-bye,  Stukeley,'  he  murmured.  He  stooped, 
and  picked  some  rose-buds,  and  a  little  scrap  of 
stone  from  the  grave,  putting  them  carefully  in  a 
pocket-case.  '  Now  smoke.  West,'  he  said.  *  And 
rub  tobacco  on  your  hands.' 

He  reproached  himself  for  having  neglected  his 
wounded  for  so  long  ;  but  he  knew  that  Tucket 
and  Pain  would  look  to  them.  He  wished  that  the 
singing  and  shouting  would  stop.  '  Old  Rose  '  and 
'  The  green  grass  grew '  were  not  songs  which  the 
army  in  his  mind  had  sung.  Thermopylae  was  not 
possible  to  an  army  which  sang  such  songs.  Pistol- 
shots  marked  the  singing  of  each  stanza  ;  there 
were  yells  and  cries.  He  thought  he  heard  the 
screams  of  women.     He  saw  two  men  come  from  a 

376 


The  END 

house  with  their  arms  full  of  plunder.  *  My  God,* 
he  said  to  himself  bitterly.  '  Is  Stukeley  to  check 
me  even  in  death  ? '  He  drew  his  pistols  again. 
'  Come  on,  West,*  he  cried.  He  ran  to  the  two 
looters. 

'What  are  you  doing?*  he  said.  'Take  that 
stuff  back  where  you  got  it.* 

'  Git  ter  hell,*  said  the  men.  '  You  ain*t  our 
captain.  Who  in  hell  are  yer  talking  to  ?  *  Both 
men  were  drunk.  One  of  them  had  been  wounded 
in  the  head. 

'  1  been  doing  your  dirty  work  all  morning,'  said 
the  wounded  man,  with  drunken  gravity.  '  I'm 
a  free  man,  and  I'm  getting  a  little  for  myself. 
You  ain't  my  cap.  Wot  d'yer  talk  to  us  for  .? 
Go  and  see  'em  in  the  Plaza,'  said  the  other  man. 
'  Git  ter  the  swamps  and  shove  yer  *ed  in.*  They 
rolled  off  shouting.  The  noise  in  the  Plaza  became 
louder  at  each  moment.  '  It  was  useless  to  shoot 
the  looters  ;  two-thirds  of  the  whole  force  were 
looting.     Pain  himself  was  looting. 

Indeed,  the  sight  of  the  Plaza  haunted  Margaret 
like  a  nightmare  till  he  died.  Of  the  two  hundred 
men  gathered  there,  hardly  thirty  were  sober. 
These  stood  aloof  under  Tucket,  guarding  the 
wounded  and  laughing  at  the  antics  of  the  rest. 
A  heap  of  loot  was  piled  under  the  cotton  tree. 
At  every  moment  a  buccaneer  added  to  the  pile. 
Wine  casks  lay  open  about  the  square,  with  drunken 
men  lying  near  them,  in  the  sun,  too  drunk  to 
stir.  Other  drunkards,  with  linked  arms,  danced 
and  sang,  making  catcalls  and  obscene  noises.  A 
half-conscious  girl  lay  against  a  wall,  gasping, 
shaken  by  hysteria.     Her  wild  eyes  were  hard  and 

377 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

dry,  her  hands  clutched  the  dress  across  her  bosom. 
Parties  of  drunken  men  hacked  at  doors  with  axes, 
and  tossed  household  gear  through  the  windows  on 
to  the  heads  of  other  drunkards  beneath.  Some 
had  been  torturing  a  Spaniard  with  woolding.  The 
man  lay  dead  with  the  cords  about  him,  his  face  in 
the  sands.  Others,  in  wantonness,  were  now  firing 
the  church,  dancing  obscenely  about  in  the  priests' 
robes.  Women  were  screaming  in  an  upper  room. 
A  dozen  savages  pursued  one  shrieking  woman. 
They  bawled  filthy  jests  to  each  other  as  they  ran. 
Margaret  stood  over  her,  as  she  fell,  moaning, 
unable  to  run  further.  He  drove  the  ruffians  back, 
threatening  them  with  his  sword. 

'  It's  the  cap,'  they  said.  '  If  the  cap  wants  'er 
he  must  'ave  'er.'  He  placed  the  woman  in  a 
house  which  had  been  sacked  ;  it  seemed  the  safest 
place  in  that  lost  city.  Pain  came  by  him,  drunk, 
dragging  a  silver  tray. 

^No  looting,'  the  drunkard  called.  'Strictly 
college  gents.  No  looting  'tall.  None.  Won't 
have  it.  No.'  He  passed  on,  crying  drunken  cat- 
calls. The  eastern  side  of  the  town,  fanned  by  the 
breeze,  was  fast  spreading  to  a  blaze.  The  dry 
wood  crackled  as  the  flame  caught.  The  church 
roof  was  pouring  smoke.  Little  flames  were  lick- 
ing out  from  the  eaves.  '  My  God.  My  God,' 
said  Margaret.  'And  this  is  my  act  and  deed. 
My  act  and  deed.'  He  went  to  Tucket,  who  stood 
with  the  wounded,  grimly  watching  it  all.  He 
could  not  speak.  He  could  only  shake  his  head, 
white  to  the  lips. 

'  How's  this  for  hell  } '  said  Tucket.  '  This  is 
Captain  Pain.' 

378 


The   END 

^  Are  the  guards  at  the  gates  still  ? '  Margaret 
answered. 

'  Some  of  'em  are.  Your  own  men  are.  Mine 
are.     I  never  saw  men  like  these,  though.' 

'  Let's  get  the  wounded  to  the  boats.  How 
many  have  we  ^  How  many  men  are  steady 
still  .? ' 

'  Sir,*  Tucket  answered,  *  I've  twenty-five  men 
by  me.  We  lost  fourteen  killed.  There's  nineteen 
hurt  here.  That's  fifty-eight.  Say  there's  twenty 
at  the  gates  still.  That  leaves  a  matter  of  a  hundred 
and  seventy  like  what  you  see.  Get  them  hurt 
into  the  carts,  boys,  and  start  'em  to  the  boats. 
Gently  does  it.     That's  you.' 

They  laid  the  wounded  men  in  litters  and  carts, 
and  wheeled  them  down  gently  to  the  canoas. 
Margaret  walked  by  the  side  of  the  carts,  talking 
to  the  men  about  their  wounds,  fanning  them  with 
his  handkerchief,  getting  drink  for  them,  wetting 
their  brows  with  water  whenever  they  passed  a 
cistern.  The  ships  were  then  coming  to  anchor 
within  half  a  mile  of  the  town. 

*You  won't  be  long  in  the  boats,'  he  told  the 
wounded  men.  *  You'll  soon  be  in  bed  on  board. 
You  can  see  the  ships.  There  they  are.  Do  you 
see  ? ' 

He  spoke  to  Tucket,  urging  that  they  should 
withdraw  the  guards  from  the  east  and  north  gates, 
lest  the  Spaniards,  guessing  what  had  happened, 
should  attack  suddenly,  and  overpower  them. 

*  I've  already  sent,'  said  Tucket.  *  I  ain't  goin' 
to  lose  good  men  because  these  swine  choose  to 
raise  hell.  This  was  Captain  Pain's  piece.  The 
sooner  we're  off  the  better.' 

379 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

^  rd  sound  the  assembly,'  Margaret  said.  '  But 
the  trumpeter's  drunk.' 

^  Could  we  ring  the  church  bell  or  something, 
sir  ? '  said  one  of  the  men. 

*  The  church  is  on  fire.' 

'  Beg  pardon,  sir.  But  we'd  oughtn't  to  wait,' 
said  Tucket.  'We'd  ought  to  get  these  fellers  on 
board.  The  sun's  strong.  And  we  got  to  make 
two  journeys  as  it  is.' 

At  the  boats  they  were  joined  by  the  north-gate 
guards,  about  a  dozen  men  in  all. 

*  We  can  only  send  away  six  canoas  at  a  time,' 
Margaret  said.  '  That'll  mean  twenty-four  oars. 
Two  wounded  men  in  each  canoa.  You  can't  put 
more,  comfortably.' 

*  That's  so,'  said  Tucket.  *  Get  'em  in,  sons. 
Ask  Captain  Cammock  to  fire  guns.' 

They  manned  six  canoas,  and  laid  the  worst  cases 
in  the  sternsheets.  The  one  sober  doctor  went 
with  them.  He  was  a  clever  surgeon,  pretty  well 
known  all  over  the  Indies  as  Doctor  Glass  Case. 
He  had  left  England  under  a  cloud  ;  it  was  not 
known  why.     No  man  knew  his  real  name. 

'  Take  them  aboard  the  Broken  Hearty  Margaret 
said.  'And  then  come  back  for  the  rest.  Tell 
Captain  Cammock  how  things  stand  here.' 

The  boats  shoved  off  from  the  shore  below  the 
water-gate.  Boat-covers  propped  on  oars  made 
awnings  for  the  wounded.  Margaret  and  Tucket 
watched  them  quartering  on  each  other,  stringing 
out  into  line,  some  of  the  stroke  oars  splashing,  so 
as  to  spatter  water,  by  request,  into  the  faces  of  the 
wounded. 

'  Gully-shooting,'  Tucket  said. 
33o 


The   END 

'  They're  racing/  said  Margaret.  He  thought 
how  strongly  these  men  resembled  boys.  They 
never  lost  a  chance  of  competing.  Now,  in  that 
hot  sun,  after  seven  hours  of  exertion,  they  were 
making  the  broad  oars  bend,  driving  the  canoas 
through  it,  racing  to  the  ship. 

Men  came  straggling  to  the  water-gate,  asking  if 
they  were  to  go  aboard.  Margaret  and  Tucket 
told  them  to  tend  the  wounded,  while  they  re- 
turned to  the  Plaza  to  try  to  bring  off  the  rest  of 
the  hands.  There  was  no  question  of  holding  the 
town.  The  east  side  was  a  roaring  bonfire.  All 
that  they  could  hope  was  that  the  Spaniards  would 
not  attack. 

'There  are  three  garrisons  only  twelve  miles 
away,'  Margaret  said. 

*  Yes,'  Tucket  answered.  *  And  them  we  fit  this 
morning  must  be  in  the  woods.' 

'  I  thought  I  could  have  trusted  Pain,'  said 
Margaret.  '  They  would  have  ransomed  the  town. 
It's  a  merchant  town.  Look  at  all  the  balsam  sheds. 
And  now  they've  thrown  it  away.' 

'That  was  Captain  Pain,'  said  Tucket.  'He 
said  as  all  he  wanted  was  for  you  to  help  him 
take  the  town.  He'd  do  the  rest,  he  said. 
He's  deceived  you,  sir.  Deceived  you  all  along. 
He  was  telling  his  hands  just  now,  he  was  going 
to  seize  your  ship,  as  soon  as  he  got  the  stuff 
aboard.' 

They  were  entering  the  Plaza  as  Tucket  said 
this.  They  were  just  in  time  to  see  the  church 
roof  fall  in,  with  a  sudden  uprush  of  fire.  Many 
of  Pain's  men  were  dragging  the  loot  out  of  the 
heat.     They  were    stripped   nearly   naked.     They 

381 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

tossed  the  heavy  silver  from  hand  to  hand.  Some- 
times a  piece  was  flung  at  a  man's  head,  and  then  a 
fight  would  begin.  At  least  thirty  men  lay  drunk 
about  the  square,  too  drunk  to  move.  About  thirty 
others  formed  a  rank  across  the  eastern  side,  firing 
and  clubbing  at  the  rats  which  ran  from  the  burn- 
ing houses.  They  turned  and  fired  at  the  rats 
which  broke  through  them.  The  Plaza  hummed 
with  flying  bullets.  Bullets  were  chipping  the  adobe 
walls.  Splintered  tiles  of  a  soft  warm  redness  lay 
in  flakes  below  each  house.  Whenever  a  rat  was 
killed,  the  slayers  yelled  and  screamed,  swinging 
the  corpse  by  the  tail,  hitting  each  other  in  the  face. 
Tears  ran  down  Margaret's  cheeks.  He  had  never 
before  seen  a  sight  like  this.  He  had  never  seen  a 
mob  at  work.  And  these  were  the  men  he  had  led; 
these  were  the  men  who  were  to  found  a  new  nation 
with  him. 

A  sudden  roar  of  cannon  made  them  turn  to  look 
seaward.  The  Broken  Heart  was  wreathed  in  smoke 
from  a  broadside  ;  but  as  the  smoke  blew  clear  they 
could  see  the  danger  signal  ;  the  foretopsail  drop- 
ping to  the  cap,  and  a  red  weft  dipped  at  the  peak. 
Two  musket-shots  followed  from  the  fo'c's'le. 

*  Danger  from  the  south,'  said  Margaret.  '  Here 
are  the  garrisons.' 

Pain  lay  in  the  sand,  propped  against  a  wine 
cask,  with  his  hat  tilted  over  his  eyes.  Margaret 
ran  to  him  and  shook  him.  '  Up,'  he  cried.  '  Wake 
up,  man.' 

A  man  came  running  from  the  south  gate  shout- 
ing, '  The  Dagoes.  The  Dagoes.'  He  was  bleed- 
ing from  his  mouth.  He  was  gasping  his  life  out 
as  he  ran.     '  Dagoes,'  he  gurgled.     *  Dagoes,  you.' 

382 


The   END 

He   stood  for    a    moment,   swaying,  pointing  half 
round  the  compass  behind  him. 

*  Right,  son,'  said  Tucket.  '  Take  a  rest.  You're 
hit.     Lie  down.' 

The  man  looked  at  him  stupidly,  groping  with  his 
hands.  *Take.  These  feathers.  Off  my  teeth,' 
he  gasped,  and  sank  forward  gently  from  his 
knees,  dead. 

Tucket  kicked  Pain  savagely. 

*  Wha's  a  marrer  }  Wharrer  hell's  the  marrer  ? ' 
said  Pain,  struggling  to  his  feet. 

'  We're  attacked,'  said  Margaret,  shaking  him. 
'  Get  your  men.  Lord,  man,  get  your  men  to  the 
south  gate.' 

'  Hands  off,  you  damcarajo,'  he  answered  angrily. 
'  Why  the  hell  couldn't  you  look  out .''  Hadn't  you 
sense  enough  to  set  a  sentry  ?  I'm  awake.  You 
Port  Mahon  fiddler.  What  in  hell  are  you  looking 
at  me  for  ?     Get  the  men.' 

The  guns  of  the  Broken  Heart  opened  fire  in 
succession,  blowing  white  rings  over  the  trucks. 
Heavy  musket-fire  was  breaking  out  at  the  south 
gate.     Some  of  the  rat-catchers  ran  towards  it. 

'  Don't  talk  to  me  like  that,'  said  Margaret. 
'  You  drunken  little  boor.  See  what  you've  done. 
You  and  your  gang  of  thieves.  Look  at  your 
work.  Look  at  it.  Answer  me  again  and  I'll  run 
you  through.' 

'  Lord's  sake,'  Tucket  cried.  ^  They're  on  to  us. 
Here  they  are.     Cuidado,  sons.' 

'  I'll  talk  t'you  later,'  Pain  said.  '  Up  with  her, 
sons.  Rally  an'  bust  'em.'  He  unslung  his  piece, 
and  ran,  followed  by  the  others,  to  the  south  road. 
They  reached  the  mouth  of  it  in  time  to  see  their 

383 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

fellows  scattering  towards  them  from  the  breach. 
All  the  wall  was  covered  with  clambering  Spaniards, 
hundreds  of  them.  They  came  swarming  on  like 
a  wave  of  bodies,  firing  and  dropping  down  to 
load,  firing  again,  ever  firing,  till  the  air  was  full  of 
fire.  Margaret  saw  privateers  running  up  to 
support  him.  They  came  from  all  sides,  fifty  or 
sixty  men  in  all,  enough  to  make  a  rough  double 
rank  across  the  street.  They  made  a  stand  here,  at 
the  corner  of  the  Plaza,  fighting  steadily  and  well, 
but  losing  heavily.  Margaret  picked  up  a  gun  and 
fired  with  them,  praying  only  that  a  bullet  might 
find  him  soon.  He  had  no  thought  of  anything 
save  that.  He  had  failed.  Now  he  would  die  un- 
pitied  in  a  hopeless  fight  against  odds.  There  were 
several  hundreds  of  Spaniards  coming  up,  and  the 
privateers'  ammunition  failed.  They  were  search- 
ing the  dead  for  cartridges.  Men  were  running 
back  to  the  Plaza  to  search  the  drunkards  for  car- 
tridges. A  few  men  climbed  to  the  roof  of  a 
house,  and  fired  above  the  smoke  into  the  enemy. 
Margaret  climbed  up  with  them,  so  that  he  might 
order  the  battle.  He  lay  on  the  tiles  with  the  rest, 
firing  and  cheering.  For  ten  minutes  they  lay 
there,  firing  till  they  had  no  more  powder.  Then, 
as  the  smoke  cleared  away,  he  saw  that  a  troop  of 
horse  was  coming  up.  He  saw  the  Indian  lances 
swaying  like  boat-masts  in  a  sea.  He  climbed  down 
from  his  perch,  at  that,  and  gave  the  word  to 
retire,  fighting,  to  the  boats.  He  knew  that  the 
fight  now  was  only  a  matter  of  moments. 

The  men  fell  back  fast,  losing  heavily.  The 
Spaniards  pressed  on,  cheering,  trying  to  flank 
them.     At  the  boats  was  a  mob  of  flying  drunkards, 

384 


The   END 

struggling  with  the  boat-guard.  They  were  trying 
to  get  the  canoas  for  the  loot.  The  beach  was 
littered  with  loot.  A  couple  of  thousand  pounds' 
worth  of  plate  was  lying  in  the  sands.  Seventy 
or  eighty  men  were  fighting  in  the  water,  shouting 
and  damning,  tugging  the  canoas  to  and  fro.  They 
left  the  canoas  when  the  fight  ranged  down  to  the 
beach.  They  ran  to  save  the  plate  from  the  sands, 
to  snatch  the  loot  from  under  the  feet  of  the  fighters. 
They  shrieked,  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  to  the 
fighters.  They  struck  at  them  with  fists  and  guns 
and  candlesticks,  telling  them  to  save  the  loot, 
damn  them,  save  this  precious  gear,  never  mind  the 
Dagoes.  The  fighters  struck  back  at  them,  club- 
bing their  guns.  That  was  the  end  of  the  fighting. 
The  ranks  broke.  Fighters,  drunkards,  boat- 
guard,  all  the  wreck  of  the  force,  were  jumbled 
in  a  mob  among  the  boats,  knee-deep  in  water. 
Margaret,  Tucket,  and  a  few  more,  managed  to  keep 
clear  of  the  mob,  and  fired  at  the  sallyport  as  the 
Spaniards  pressed  through  to  end  them.  Tucket's 
mate  coolly  filled  their  pockets  with  cartridges, 
helping  himself  from  the  men  about  him.  Two 
canoas  upset ;  a  third,  with  only  three  men  in  her, 
drew  clear  and  pulled  for  the  ships.  Spaniards 
were  on  the  walls  above  them,  firing  into  them 
from  the  platform.  The  dead  and  dying  men 
were  beaten  down  and  stamped  on  by  the  herd 
of  wild  beasts  in  the  water.  Margaret  was  care- 
less how  it  ended  for  him.  He  had  no  wish  to 
live.  He  felt  only  the  horror  of  having  mixed  with 
men  like  these,  of  having  led  them,  of  having 
soiled  his  honour  for  ever  with  them.  His  gun 
was  shattered  with  a  bullet ;  the  wound  in  his 
2C  385 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

shoulder  had  broken  out  again  ;  he  could  feel  his 
shirt,  sized  with  blood,  gluing  to  his  skin.  He 
drew  his  sword,  and  waited,  looking  at  the  walls, 
watching  the  heads  of  the  Spaniards  showing  in 
glimpses  among  the  smoke.  As  he  looked,  there 
came  a  rush  above  him.  A  yard  of  the  wall 
shattered  into  dust  with  a  burst.  Cammock  had 
opened  on  the  town  with  his  broadside.  That 
saved  them. 

He  was  in  the  water  still.  Some  loaded  canoas 
were  pulling  clear.  The  last  canoas  were  loading. 
A  dozen  steady  men,  calmed  by  the  gun-fire,  were 
covering  the  retreat.  One  by  one  they  climbed 
into  the  canoas,  firing  over  the  gunwales,  standing 
up  to  fire,  anxious  to  have  the  last  word.  A  canoa 
which  had  pulled  clear  backed  up  to  Margaret,  and 
a  voice  shouted  in  his  ear.  Looking  round,  he 
saw  that  it  was  Pain,  a  grimed  and  bloody  scare- 
crow, still  savage  with  drink. 

'  You  Portuguese  get,'  the  drunkard  screamed. 
*  You  called  me  down  just  now.  Did  you,  by  God. 
You  junk-laid  carajo.  Now  I'm  even.  See?'  He 
swung  his  knobbed  pistol  on  to  Margaret's  brow 
with  a  smash,  knocking  him  senseless.  '  Give  way,' 
he  shouted.  ^  Give  way.  That's  what  I  give  to 
college  gents  what  gets  gay  with  Captain  Pain.' 

When  Margaret  recovered  consciousness  he  was 
in  the  last  canoa,  a  hundred  yards  from  the  shore. 
One  of  the  Indians  was  mopping  his  brow  with 
water.  Tucket,  who  was  steering,  was  uncorking 
a  rum-flask  with  his  teeth. 

^  You'll  be  all  right,'  Tucket  said.  '  Take  a 
rinse  of  this.' 

'  I'm  all  right,'  he  answered,  with  a  little,  hysteri- 
386 


The  END 

cal  laugh.     *  Where  is  that  man  ?    The  man  who 
hit  me  ?' 

*■  Gone  aboard  your  ship/  said  Tucket. 

*  My  God/  he  answered.  '  Give  way  then, 
quick.' 

He  sat  up,  fully  roused,  splashing  water  over  his 
head.  He  felt  ill  and  stupid  ;  but  the  thought  of 
possible  danger  to  Olivia  roused  him.  Looking 
back,  he  saw  Tolu  blazing  above  the  palm-tree  tops, 
the  flames  sucking  at  the  forest,  scorching  the 
boughs.  Looking  forward,  he  saw  the  Broken  Hearty 
with  men  struggling  on  her  gangway  amid  the  flash 
of  pistols. 

*  Captain  Pain,*  Tucket  said.  *  Up  with  her, 
boys.' 

*  I  cain't  row  no  harder,'  said  one  of  the  men 
petulantly,  like  a  child  about  to  cry.  '  I  see  old 
Jimmy  shot,  as  I  owed  the  dollar  to.  It  ain't  my 
fault,  cap.' 

^  If  I  put  any  more  weight  on,'  said  another 
rower,  '  this  oar'll  go  in  the  slings.  It's  got  a 
chewed  slug  through  the  service.' 

Margaret  noticed  then,  for  the  first  time,  that 
the  canoa  had  a  foot  of  water  in  her.  There  were 
seven  men  in  her.  Tucket,  himself,  an  Indian,  and 
four  rowers,  all  of  them  wounded. 

*  Let  me  take  an  oar,'  he  said.  '  Give  me  your 
oar,  bowman.     You're  hit.' 

'  I  ain't  goin'  to  lay  up,'  the  bowman  answered. 

'A  sailor  don't  lay  up,  nor  he  don't  take  medicine, 

not  till  he's  dying,  and  then  he  don't  need  to.' 

^  Let  me  double-bank  the  stroke  then.' 

'  You    stay  still,'   Tucket   said.     *  You    been   as 

near  it  as  most.    We're  the  last  canoa.     D'ye  know 

387 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

what  that  means  ?  We  five  got  an  upset  boat  and 
righted  her.  The  Spaniards  were  riding  after  us 
finishing  the  wounded.  Robin  there,  the  Indian, 
saved  you.  He  swam  a  matter  of  thirty  yards 
with  you  before  we  picked  him  up.  Then  we'd  to 
lie-to  and  bale  her  out  before  she  sank,  with  the 
Dagoes  blazing  hell  at  us.  As  it  is,  we're  only 
crawling.* 

^  Robin,*  said  Margaret,  ^  I  shall  tell  Don  Toro 
to  call  you  by  my  name.* 

The  Indian  sucked  in  his  golden  nose-plate,  and 
cringed  upon  his  hams,  grinning.  He  was  the 
only  happy  man  in  the  force,  this  Indian  *  sin 
razon.*  Tucket  added  to  his  happiness  by  hailing 
him  with  his  new  name,  in  his  own  speech  of  San 
Bias  pigeon,  a  jumble  of  Spanish  and  Indian, 
spoken  as  English. 

*  You  Captain  Margaret  now,  Robin.  Sabe  ? 
You  Capitano.  Capitano  sobre  tula  guannah 
anivego.  Mamaubah.  Eh  ?  Shennorung  Capi- 
tano.    Muchas  mujercillas.     Eh  '^ ' 

Five  hundred  yards  further  on  the  rowers  had 
to  rest.  They  splashed  themselves  with  water, 
took  a  drink  of  spirits,  and  lay  back  in  the  stern- 
sheets.  They  were  worn  out.  Margaret  was  worn 
out,  too.  He  had  no  strength  left  in  him.  He 
lay  back,  dully,  watching  the  ship  ;  noting,  though 
with  no  intellectual  comprehension,  an  array  of  men 
passing  down  the  gangway,  making  a  great  noise. 
It  was  still,  after  the  roar  of  the  battle.  The  cries 
and  oaths  came  down  the  wind  to  him,  clearly, 
across  the  water.  He  saw  three  long  canoas,  full 
of  men,  pull  clear  from  the  ship's  side,  with  one 
man,  not  very  big,  standing  in  the  sternsheets  of 

388 


The  END 

the  largest,  shrilly  cursing  at  the  ship.  *  That's  my 
note,'  were  the  only  words  which  he  could  catch. 
'  That's  my  note.'  He  wondered  whose  note  and 
what  note  it  could  be.  But  his  head  was  reeling; 
he  didn't  really  care. 

'  There's  a  woman  in  the  canoa  there,'  said  one 
of  the  rowers. 

'  My  God,'  he  said,  rousing  up,  as  the  beaten 
boxer  rises,  though  spent,  at  his  second's  cheer. 
*  It's  not  Mrs.  Stukeley  .?  It's  not  Mrs.  Stuke- 
ley.?' 

'  No,  sir,'  said  a  rower.     *  The  other  lady.' 

*  Yes,'  he  said,  looking  intently.  '  The  other. 
Mrs.  Inigo.     What's  happened  "^ ' 

'  Pain's  got  your  crew,'  Tucket  answered.  *  He's 
leaving  you  to  the  Spaniards.' 

Dully,  as  they  passed  about  the  rum-flask,  they 
saw  the  boats  draw  up  to  Pain's  ship.  They  saw 
sail  made  upon  her,  the  sprit-sail  for  casting,  the 
topgallant-sails  in  the  buntlines.  Soon  she  was 
under  way,  lying  over  to  the  breeze,  sailing  a  point 
or  two  free,  bound  past  the  Mestizos  to  the  south- 
ward. Her  men,  gathered  on  her  poop  to  hoist 
the  mizen,  cursed  the  Broken  Heart  from  the  taff- 
rail,  firing  a  volley  of  pistols  at  her  in  farewell. 
Two  of  the  three  sloops  sailed  at  the  same  time. 
As  they  passed  away,  crowding  all  sail,  foaming  at 
the  bows  with  their  eight-knot  rush,  Margaret 
heard  the  chanties  at  the  halliards,  a  broken  music, 
coming  in  the  gusts  of  the  wind. 

Tucket  took  one  of  the  oars,  and  sat  at  the 
thwart  wearily,  searching  for  a  helper  among  the 
sternsheets.  Captain  Margaret,  the  Indian,  could 
not  row.     The  other  five  were  exhausted.     *  Boys,' 

389 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

he  said,  *  if  we  don't  get  a  gait  on  us,  we'll  be 
sunstruck.  We're  losing  way,  too.  The  breeze  is 
setting  us  ashore.' 

Margaret  rose  up  wearily,  like  a  man  in  a  dream, 
and  sat  down  to  row  at  the  thwart.  They  pulled  a 
ragged  stroke  together.  They  were  too  tired  to  do 
much.  They  pulled  a  few  strokes,  and  paused,  to 
look  round.  Then  pulled  again  painfully  and 
again  paused.  One  of  the  men  took  up  a  pistol 
and  fired  into  the  air.  '  We'll  never  make  it,'  he 
said.  He  fired  again  and  again,  till  some  one  in  the 
ship  caught  sight  of  them  and  fired  in  reply.  A 
boat  manned  by  half  a  dozen  men  put  off  to  them, 
veering  out  line  astern,  so  that  thos6  aboard  might 
heave  them  in  at  the  capstan.  Cammock  and 
Perrin  were  two  of  the  rowers,  the  only  two  who 
could  pull  an  oar  ;  the  negro  steward  steered.  The 
rest  of  them  rowed  like  marines  on  pay-day  going 
through  the  platoon.  The  wounded  and  weary 
smiled  to  see  them  ;  they  had  never  seen  such 
rowing.  Slowly  they  drew  up.  Margaret  saw 
Perrin  and  Cammock  glancing  over  their  shoulders 
at  him.  They  cheered  and  waved  when  they  saw 
him.  He  waved  his  unhurt  arm  to  them.  The 
canoa  swung  round  and  backed  alongside.  Cam- 
mock, laying  in  his  oar,  shifted  his  towing-line  to 
the  bow,  and  bent  to  it  the  painter  of  Tucket's 
canoa,  so  that  the  boats  might  tow  together.  ^  Let 
your  oars  swing  fore  and  aft,  boys,'  he  said.  He 
lifted  his  voice,  and  yelled  to  the  ship  to  heave  in. 
'Well,  sir,'  he  said,  coming  aft  alongside  Margaret. 
'  And  how  are  you  }  I'm  glad  to  see  you  alive. 
The  men  said  you  were  killed.' 

*  I'm  all  right,'  he  said.     '  But  we  had.     We  had 

390 


The   END 

enough,  over  there.     What  has  happened  in   the 
ship  ? ' 

'  Well,  sir,'  said  Cammock.  '  Pain*s  gone  off 
with  most  of  what  were  left  to  us.  That's  what's 
happened.' 

'  Tell  me,'  Margaret  said.  '  How  was  it } ' 
'I  was  on  deck  with  Mr.  Perrin  till  the  last 
canoas  were  putting  off,'  Cammock  answered. 
*We'd  been  working  the  guns.  We  saw  there  was 
rather  a  mess.  Then  the  doctor  sends  for  us  two 
to  help  him  take  off  Jowett's  leg.  So  we  went 
into  the  wardroom,  where  he  was  working.  We 
heard  the  boats  come  alongside,  and  Pain  lashing 
out  like  a  chocalatto-north  ;  so  when  we  got  the 
arteries  fast,  and  Jowett  in  a  cot,  we  ran  on  deck  to 
see  if  you  were  safe  and  to  see  what  the  row  was. 
They'd  been  making  enough  row  to  caulk  a  flag- 
ship. That  was  too  late,  then.  Pain  had  been 
saying  that  you  were  dead,  that  you'd  spoiled  the 
show  and  got  a  hundred  of  'em  killed.  God 
knows  what  he  hadn't  said.  More'n  half  of  them 
were  drunk.  Our  lot  had  been  up  all  night.  So 
by  the  time  we  got  on  deck  they  were  bundling 
their  bags  into  the  canoas.  There  was  that  Fraser 
fellow  going  down  the  gangway  with  one  of  our 
guns.  I  knocked  him  back  where  he  belonged. 
Then  they  began  to  fire.  I'll  show  you  my  hat 
when  we  get  aboard.  Then  they  tried  to  rush  the 
gangway.  So  I  cut  the  fall,  and  spilled  'em  off  it. 
We'd  a  lively  fight  for  a  few  minutes.  Pain  and 
Ackett's  lots  (Ackett's  lot  weren't  so  bad)  went  off 
then.  It  was  them  really  kept  Pain  back  a  bit. 
They  said  they'd  play  hell  with  Springer's  Key 
for  me.     Ackett's  lot  said  I'd  better  stand  in  with 

391 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

them.  They  said  they'd  seen  you  corpsed  on  the 
beach.' 

'  He  wasn't  far  off  it,'  Tucket  said.  '  But  for 
this  capitano  here.' 

^  Mrs.  Inigo  went  off  with  lies,'  said  Perrin. 
'  They've  gone  with  Pain  and  the  rest.' 

'  The  rest.  The  rest.  What  rest }  We  must 
have  lost.  Oh,  my  God,'  said  Margaret  weakly. 
'We  must  have  lost  half.    Was  any  roll  called  ? ' 

'  No,'  said  Perrin.  '  Twelve  of  your  men  went 
to  your  sloop,  Captain  Tucket,  after  bringing  off 
some  wounded.  They  said  there  was  hell  to  pay 
ashore,  so  they  stayed  here.  That  was  before  the 
attack.  And  you've  five  more  here  ;  seventeen 
that  makes,  besides  your  ship-keepers. 

'  We've  got  eleven  left,'  Cammock  said,  '  besides 
nineteen  wounded  and  the  doctor.  Not  counting 
them.  Tucket,  we  got  thirty-nine  able-bodied  be- 
tween us.     Twenty-four  of  them  yours.' 

*  By  the  way,  I've  got  your  maps,  Cammock,' 
Margaret  said.  '  Here  they  are.  I'm  sorry  they're 
so  wet.     I  fell  in  the  sea  coming  off.' 

Cammock  took  the  maps  with  a  groan.  '  Thank 
you  very  much,  sir,'  he  said.  '  But  I  don't  much 
value  the  maps,  though,  when  I  think  of  what's 
happened.' 

'  It  must  have  been  hell,'  said  Perrin. 

'  Yes,'  Margaret  answered.     '  It  was  hell.' 

*  Why  didn't  Pain  take  the  ship  V  Perrin  asked. 
'  That's  what  puzzles  me.' 

'  Afraid  you'd  government  friends,  sir.  Besides. 
He  thought  if  he  took  your  men  the  Dagoes'd 
get  you.' 

Very  slowly  the  men  at  the  capstan  walked  the 
392 


The  END 

canoas  to  the  side.  Margaret  stood  on  his  own 
deck  again,  asking  himself  how  many  years  had 
gone  since  he  last  stood  there.  The  guns  were  cast 
loose.  Round  shot,  fallen  from  the  garlands,  rolled 
to  and  fro  as  the  ship  rolled.  The  decks  were 
littered  with  wads.  Smears,  as  of  lamp-black, 
showed  where  the  gun-sponges  had  been  dropped. 
The  hammock-nettings  were  fire-pocked  and  filthy. 
There  were  marks  of  blood  on  the  coamings,  where 
wounded  men  had  lain,  waiting  to  be  carried 
below. 

*  Charles,'  said  Pcrrin,  *  you  come  to  the  cabin 
and  lie  down.  I'll  fetch  Olivia  to  you.  She's  with 
the  wounded.     What  about  Stukeley  .'' ' 

*  He's  dead,  Edward.  He  died  of  yellow  fever 
this  morning.     1  buried  him.' 

'  My  God.     Dead  ? ' 

'  Yes.     He  was  married  there.' 

*  He  deserted  then,  that  time  ? ' 
'  Yes.' 

'  And  so  he's  dead.     The  dead  are.' 

'  The  dead  are  our  only  links  with  God,  I  think,' 
Margaret  said  gravely.  *  I've  been  in  hell  to-day, 
Edward.     In  hell.     In  hell.' 

He  lay  down  on  the  window-seat  in  the  cabin, 
where  Stukeley  had  so  often  lain.  The  breeze  had 
swung  the  ship  head  to  sea.  He  had  only  to  turn 
his  head  to  see  the  fire  of  Tolu,  burning  below  its 
pillar  of  cloud.  The  sea-wall  spurted  with  smoke 
at  intervals.  The  flashes  were  very  white  and  bright, 
not  like  the  smoke  of  firelocks.  Cammock  came 
in  to  him  with  a  mess  of  cold  poultice  for  his 
head. 

*  We're  getting  under  way,  sir,'  he  said.     '  The 

393 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

Dagoes  are  blowing  the  spikes  out  of  their  guns. 
They'll  be  firing  soon.  WeVe  cutting  our  cable, 
sir.  We  haven't  strength  to  weigh.  Tucket  the 
same.  Mrs.  Stukeley  is  coming  to  you,  sir.  I 
told  her  you  were  hurt.  She  wants  you  not  to  get 
up,  sir.' 

He  then  went  away.     By  and  by  Olivia  entered. 

'  Don't  get  up,  Charles,'  she  said.  *  Oh.  Don't 
get  up.' 

He  raised  himself  to  greet  her,  looking  at  her 
sadly.  She  came  up  to  him  and  took  his  hand, 
and  sat  at  his  side. 

'  Olivia,'  he  said  gently.  '  Olivia,  I  bring 
another  sorrow  for  you.  Your  husband  is  dead, 
Olivia.     He  died  this  morning.' 

'Yes,'  she  answered  quietly.  *I  knew  he  would  be 
dead.' 

He  tried  to  read  her  thought ;  but  his  head  was 
stupid  with  pain  ;  he  could  not.  He  saw  only  the 
calm,  pale  face  with  that  quality  of  mystery  upon 
it  which  is  upon  all  beauty. 

'  I  feel  for  your  sorrow,'  he  stammered. 

'  Yes,  Charles,'  she  answered.  '  You  feel  for  my 
sorrow,  I  know.' 

'  Olivia,'  he  said,  '  would  it  pain  you  too  much 
to  hear.     To  hear  about  it } ' 

'  You  ought  not  to  be  talking  with  your  wound, 
Charles.' 

'  I  must  tell  you,  Olivia.  If  you  can  bear  it.  It 
may  be  harder  to-morrow.' 

'  Tell  me  then,'  she  said.  '  If  you  feel.  If  you 
wish.  I  am  quite  calm,  Charles.  Tell  me  every- 
thing.' 

'  He  died  of  yellow  fever,  Olivia.  In  the 
394 


The   END 

Governor's   house    there.     The   tall  house   above 

the  bastion  there/ 

'  I  can't  look,  Charles.   Don't  tell  me  where.  I'm. 

Yes.?' 

'  He  was  ill  for  four  days,'  Margaret  continued. 

*  They  thought  he  was  getting  better  yesterday.' 
'  They,  Charles  .?     Who  were  "  they  "  } ' 
'The  Governor  and  a  priest,  Olivia.' 
'  He   was    in    the  Governor's   house,'   she    said. 

*As  a  friend  ?' 

'  A  secretary  there.'    His  mouth  had  grown  very 

dry  ;  it  was  hard  to  answer  these  questions. 

*  Then  he  stole  the  book  of  maps,  Charles  .? ' 
'Yes.' 

'  Did  you  find  it .? ' 
'  Yes.     I  found  it.' 

*  Was  there  fighting  .?  Fighting  in  the  town  ? 
Was  he  alone  when  he  died  V 

'  He  died  before  the  fighting  began.  An  hour  or 
two  before.' 

'  Who  was  with  him,  Charles  } ' 

'  A  priest  was  with  him.' 

'  A  Roman  Catholic  priest } ' 

'  Yes.  I  found  the  priest  in  the  room  with  him. 
The  priest  had  attended  him.     At  the  end.' 

'  He  had  become  a  Roman  Catholic  .? ' 

*  Yes,  Olivia.' 

'  I  want  to  picture  it,  Charles.  Was  there  fight- 
ing in  the  town  when  you.  When  you  found  him.?' 

'  There  was  a  little  firing.  But  the  men  were  at 
breakfast.  I  heard  a  few  shots.  Distant  shots. 
So.  So  I  left  the  men.  And  West  and  I  made  a 
grave.  We  buried  him  there,  Olivia.  The  priest. 
There  was  a  service.' 

395 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

'  And  then.     What  happened  then,  Charles  ? ' 

*  I  picked  these  rosebuds,  and  this  pebble,  Olivia. 
From  the  grave.     For  you.' 

The  rosebuds  were  crushed  and  dropping.  She 
took  them  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand.  There  was 
a  grace  in  all  that  she  did.  The  holding  out  of  her 
delicate  palm  was  beautiful ;  the  movement  showed 
curiously  her  exquisite  refinement ;  it  was  as 
though  she  had  said  some  beautiful  thing ;  her 
mind  showed  in  it.  She  took  the  relics,  looking 
not  at  them,  but  at  Charles,  her  eyes  swimming 
with  tears,  her  dear  mind  wild  with  tears. 

^  Thank  you,'  she  said,  on  a  sob.  '  You  planted 
the  roses,  Charles  "^     You  thought  of  it.' 

He  did  not  answer.  He  turned  his  head,  to 
look  out  over  Tolu.  The  ship  was  moving  slowly, 
heading  out  of  the  gulf;  the  fiery  town  was  dwin- 
dling ;  the  wake  whirled  pale  bubbles  about  the 
rudder. 

'I  think  no  other  man  would  have  thought  of  it,' 
she  said  quietly. 

*Ah,'  he  said,  sighing. 

'  Charles,'  she  said,  '  tell  me  now,  will  you. 
That's  over.  That  part.  What  happened  in  the 
town  ? ' 

'The  men  got  drunk,  Olivia,  and  set  the  town 
on  fire.  They  sacked  the  place.  When  I  came 
back  to  the  Plaza.     Oh,  I  can't.     I  can't.' 

*  You  sent  off  the  wounded,  then,  did  you  not.f*' 
'Yes.' 

'  I  helped  them,  down  in  the  ward-room.  Oh, 
poor  fellows.  I  asked  them  about  the  battle.  I 
think  I've.  I  think,  Charles,  I've  come  very  near 
to  the  world  in  these  last  days.     They  told  me  a 

396 


The   END 

little.  Then  I  heard  firing.  We  were  busy  below, 
with  a  sheet  over  the  ports  to  keep  out  the  sun. 
Some  of  them  are  dreadfully  hurt.  I  couldn't  see 
what  was  happening.  But  I  knew  you  were  at- 
tacked. Then  the  cannon  overhead  began.  The 
ship  shook.  Then  a  wounded  man  came  down. 
He  said  you  were  dead,  Charles.  It  was  like  the 
end  of  everything.* 

'  It  was,  Olivia,'  he  said. 

*  I  know  now,  Charles,  what  war  is.* 

'  You  didn't  see  that  water,'  he  answered.  '  Oh, 
not  that  water.  My  act  and  deed.  All  of  it.  All 
of  it  by  me.  And  there  was  a  girl  in  the  Plaza. 
I'm  disgraced.  Oh,  I  shall  never.  It's  all  over. 
All  over  after  to-day.' 

*  No,  Charles.  Don't  say  that.  You.  At  Spring- 
er's Key.  You  can  begin  again  there.  With 
better  men.' 

^  Springer's  Key  will  be  a  failure,  too,'  he  said 
bitterly.  ^  Oh,  Olivia,'  he  added,  going  off  into  an 
hysterical  laugh,  'that  water  gets  on  my  nerves. 
There  were  two  upset  boats,  and  they  can't  right 
them.' 

'  Charles,'  she  said,  frightened,  *  You're  hurt. 
You're  hit  again.' 

*  I  think  my  old  wound  has  broken  out,'  he  said. 

*  Lie  down,'  she  answered,  rising  swiftly,  to  lay 
the  relics  on  the  table.  '  I'll  see  to  it  at  once. 
Why  didn't  I  think  .? ' 

'  I'll  get  Perrin,'  he  said.  '  Don't  you.  You 
mustn't.     Oh,  Olivia,  you've  enough  without  me.' 

She  ripped  the  coat  of  soiled  linen  with  the 
scissors  in  her  chatelaine.  The  old  negro,  coming 
in  with  chocolate,  brought  hot  water  for  her.     To- 

397 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

gether  they  dressed  the  wound  with  balsam  and 
pitoma  leaf,  binding  it  with  Indian  cotton.  The 
steward  brought  in  fruit  and  bread.  They  ate  and 
drank  together,  mechanically,  not  as  though  they 
wanted  food. 

*  Olivia,'  Margaret  said,  ^  you  are  in  great 
sorrow.  Some  of  it,  Olivia,  perhaps  all  of  it,  is 
due  to  me.  I  want  you.  I  want  you  to  feel  that 
1  feel  for  you.  Feel  deeply.  Oh,  my  God.  I'm 
sorry  for  you.     You  poor  woman.' 

'  Charles,'  she  said,  '  you  mustn't  think.  You've 
no  right.  You  mustn't  think  that.  That  what  has 
happened  was  due  to  you.  Don't,  Charles.  You 
won't,  I  know.  I  see  too  clearly  what  happened. 
I  see  your  mind,  Charles,  all  along.  I  understand.' 
She  knelt  very  swiftly  and  kissed  his  hand.  '  There,* 
she  said,  very  white.     '  I  understand.' 

Margaret  closed  his  eyes,  then  looked  at  a  gleam 
of  flame  far  distant,  and  at  the  blue  band  on  the 
bows  of  Tucket's  sloop,  plunging  the  sea  into  milk 
within  hail  of  him. 

^  You  were  right,  Olivia,'  he  said,  in  a  shaking 
voice.     '  I  shall  never  reap  my  plantations  yonder.' 

'  No,'  she  answered.     ^  Nor  I.' 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  little  while. 

'  Charles,'  she  added,  '  we  both  had  Darien 
schemes.' 

'  Yes,  Olivia.' 

'  They  came  to  nothing.  Because.  There.  We 
were  too  wild  to  see  what,  what  we  were  building 
with.' 

'Yes,  Olivia.  And  you  reap  sorrow.  And  I 
dishonour.' 

'Not  that,  Charles.     We  reap  the  world.' 

398 


The  END 

'Ah  no,  Olivia.  This  is  the  end  of  everything. 
For  me  it  is.' 

*  No,  Charles,'  she  said.  'We  were  living  in  one 
little  corner  of  our  hearts,  you  and  I.  In  fools' 
paradises.  We  were  prisoners.  This  is  not  the 
end.     We  only  begin  here.' 

He  sighed,  thinking  of  the  shame  of  the  morn- 
ing's work  in  Tolu.  '  My  father's  sword,'  he 
thought.     '  In  that  cause.' 

'  Charles,'  she  asked,  '  haven't  you.  Something 
more  to  tell  me  .'' ' 

He  thought  for  a  moment,  dully,  wondering  in 
his  blurred  brain  if  she  wished  to  hear  more  of  the 
battle. 

'  No,'  he  said.     '  No.     That  is  the  end.' 

She  stood  up,  facing  him,  her  great  eyes  looking 
down  on  him. 

'  I  must  go  now  to  the  wounded,'  she  said  softly. 
'  Edward  and  the  doctor  will  be  wanting  me.  God 
bless  you,  Charles.' 

'  God  bless  you,  Olivia.     And  comfort  you.' 

Before  she  left  the  cabin  she  turned  and  spoke 
again. 

'  He  was  married,  Charles,'  she  said.  '  You 
never  told  me  that.' 

'  Yes,  Olivia,  he  was  married.' 

'  I  knew  that,  Charles.  I  saw  him  so  clearly. 
With  a  woman  with  a  cruel  face.  Oh,  I  knew  it. 
It  was  generous  of  you  not  to  tell  me.  But  I 
knew  all  the  time.' 

Late  that  night,  in  the  darkened  cabin,  Olivia 
leaned  upon  the  port-sill,  looking  out  over  the  rudder 
eddies,  as  they  spun  away  in  fire  rings,  brightening 
and  dying.     She  propped  the  cushions  at  her  back, 

399 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

so  that  she  might  rest  her  head.  The  nightmare 
of  the  past  was  ashes  to  her.  That  evil  fire  had 
burned  out,  as  Tolu  had  burned  out.  The  past 
and  Tolu  lay  smouldering  together  somewhere, 
beyond  Fuerte  there,  beyond  the  Mestizos.  The 
embers  lay  red  there,  crusted  in  ash. 

She  had  come  to  see  clearly  in  the  pain  of  her 
sorrow.  She  saw  her  life  laid  bare  and  judged. 
She  saw  the  moral  values  of  things.  Great  emo- 
tions are  our  high  tides.  They  brim  our  natures, 
as  a  tide  brims  the  flood-marks,  bringing  strange- 
ness out  of  the  sea,  wild  birds  and  amber.  She 
had  relics  in  her  hand  ;  rosebuds  and  a  pebble, 
'  feathers  and  dust.'  The  rosebuds  had  spilled  their 
petals.  She  looked  at  them  there,  turning  them 
over  with  her  fingers,  holding  them  to  the  open 
port  to  see  them.  There  was  no  moon  ;  but  the 
great  stars  gave  the  night  a  kind  of  glimmering 
clearness.  The  sea  heaved  silvery  with  star-tracks. 
Fish  broke  the  water  to  flame.  The  scutter  of  a 
settling  sea-bird  made  a  path  of  bright  scales  a  few 
yards  from  her.  She  laid  the  relics  on  the  port-sill, 
near  the  open  window.  Very  gently  she  pushed 
the  pebble  into  the  water,  leaning  forward  to  see 
the  gleam  of  its  fall.  One  by  one  she  pushed  the 
rosebuds  over,  till  they  were  all  gone,  too.  She 
watched  the  petals  float  away  into  the  wake,  chased 
by  the  sea-birds.  They  were  out  of  sight  in  a 
moment,  but  the  gulls  mewed  as  they  quarrelled 
over  them,  voices  in  the  darkness,  crying  in  the  air 
aloft.  Olivia  leaned  there,  looking  after  them,  for 
many  minutes.  Then  she  drew  close  the  window 
and  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands. 

It  took  them  ^yq  days  to  win  back  to  the 
400. 


The  END 

Samballoes.  They  entered  Springer's  Drive  a  little 
before  noon,  eagerly  looking  out  towards  the 
anchorage.  No  ships  lay  there,  no  guns  greeted 
them  from  the  fort.  Margaret  and  Cammock, 
walking  the  poop  together,  knew  that  Pain  had 
been  before  them.  A  thin  expanse  of  smoke 
wavered  and  drifted  in  films  among  the  trees. 
When  it  drove  down  into  the  palms,  after  rising 
above  their  level,  it  scattered  the  macaws,  making 
them  cry  out.  The  flagstaff  lay  prone,  like  a 
painted  finger,  pointing  down  the  spit  to  the  sea. 
Tucket's  sloop  was  fifty  yards  ahead  of  the  ship, 
plunging  in  a  smother.  There  was  a  cockling  sea 
that  morning,  the  reefs  were  running  white,  they 
gleamed  milky  for  fifty  yards  about  them.  There 
was  no  other  sign  of  life  about  the  island.  The 
smoke  was  so  thin  that  it  was  like  mist.  The 
beach,  which  had  so  lately  been  thronged,  was  busy 
now  with  crabs,  which  scuttled  and  sidled,  tearing 
at  the  manchineel  trees.  A  wounded  man  limped 
down  the  sand  and  waved  to  them.  Margaret, 
going  in  in  his  boat,  saw  that  it  was  the  seaman 
West. 

'  I  been  here  two  days,  sir,'  he  said,  *  waiting 
for  you.  I  been  living  on  sapadillies.  There  been 
awful  times,  sir.' 

*  What  has  happened,  man  }  * 

•  I  came  from  the  town,  Tolu  town,  in  one  of  the 
sloops,  sir,'  the  man  answered.  ^  The  Lively^  as  they 
called  her.  When  we  come  here.  Captain  Pain  got 
all  the  men  you  left,  all  the  guard  like,  to  sign  on 
with  him.  Then  he  set  the  town  on  fire,  and 
scoffed  all  your  gear,  the  guns  and  powder  and  that. 
So  I  got  away  and  hid  in  the  wood.     I  was  afraid 

2  D  401 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

they  want  me  to  join  'em,  or  put  a  knife  into  me. 
Then  I  saw  'em  flog  that  Don  Toro,  and  two  other 
Indians.  He  flog  'em  on  the  beach,  and  sent  'em 
back  to  the  Main,  sir.  He  said  that  would  put  all 
them  Indians  off  giving  you  a  hand  in  the  future.' 

'  What  a  devil  the  man  must  be,'  Margaret  said. 

'  So  I  stayed  hidden,  sir,  ever  since,  hoping  no 
Indians  would  come  over  and  find  me.' 

'  So  that's  the  end,'  said  Margaret  to  himself. 
He  would  not  go  ashore  there.  He  could  see  the 
ruins  of  his  city,  a  mass  of  fallen  earth,  a  heap  of 
ashes,  a  sprouting  crop  blasted.  He  would  never 
set  foot  there  again.  That  dream  had  ended  like 
the  other,  in  savagery,  in  waste,  in  cruelty.  He 
would  let  it  end.  The  fallen  gabions  of  the  fort 
would  soon  be  tangled  with  grasses.  In  three 
months  there  would  be  shrubs  on  the  city  site. 
The  key  would  be  jungle  again,  the  Indians  would 
be  savage  again,  the  privateers  would  be  plundering 
vagabonds  again.  The  dream  was  over.  All  that 
he  could  do  now  was  to  proceed  to  Jamaica,  to  sell 
his  goods  there,  before  sailing  for  England,  a 
beaten  man,  threatened  by  the  law. 

Tucket's  men  helped  his  crew  to  fill  fresh  water. 
Tucket  offered  to  take  seven  of  the  slightly 
wounded  men  in  his  ship  in  exchange  for  five 
unhurt  men  from  his  own  crew.  As  the  men  were 
willing  to  exchange,  this  brought  the  Broken 
Heart's  complement  to  twenty  men  ;  enough,  at 
a  strain,  for  the  passage  to  Jamaica,  if  no  enemy 
threatened  and  no  storm  arose.  When  the  water 
had  been  filled,  and  the  manger  stacked  with  wood, 
the  men  gathered  stores  of  fruit.  They  were 
ready    to    sail    then.     Margaret   gave    the    Indian 

402 


The  END 

Robin  enough  goods  to  make  him  a  chief  in  his 
own  land.  He  made  gifts  to  all  of  Tucket*s  crew. 
To  Tucket  himself  he  gave  a  pair  of  pistols,  choice 
weapons,  made  by  the  best  artist  in  Paris.  Tucket 
asked  for  his  address,  in  writing. 

'  I  shall  come  and  look  you  up,  one  day,'  he  said, 
as  he  put  the  paper  in  his  pocket.  *  I  shall  be 
coming  home  to  set  up  dyer.  We'll  have  a  great 
yarn,  that  day.' 

'  I  shall  expect  you,'  Margaret  said.  '  You  shall 
dye  for  me.  But  won't  you  come  home  now,  cap- 
tain .?     With  me  .? ' 

'  No,  sir,'  he  answered.  *  I  want  to  get  that 
green  the  Indians  get.     Then  I'll  come  home.' 

'  I'm  sorry,'  Margaret  said.  '  Good-bye,  then. 
Captain  Tucket.  I  wonder  if  we  shall  ever  meet 
again.' 

*  Well.  We  met.  Haven't  we  }  We  neither  of 
us  expected  to.' 

*  Good-bye,  then.  Let  me  hear  from  you,  if  a 
ship  is  going  home  from  here  ? ' 

'  I  will,  indeed,  sir.     So  long.     So  long.  Lion.' 

*  So  long,'  said  Cammock. 

They  were  under  way  again,  close-hauled  to  the 
breeze,  going  out  of  Springer's  Drive  to  the  east 
of  Caobos.  All  the  Holandes  keys  were  roaring 
with  surf.  The  palms  were  bending.  The  smoke 
from  the  key  astern  trailed  in  a  faint  streamer 
towards  the  Grullos.  That  was  the  last  picture 
which  Margaret  formed  of  the  keys.  The  sun 
bright,  the  palms  lashing,  the  noise  of  the  surf 
like  a  battle,  the  welter  of  the  surf  like  milk  on 
the  reefs.  Tucket  was  in  his  sloop  now,  with  all 
hands  gathered  on  deck,  their  faces  turned  to  him. 

403 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

The  men  of  the  Broken  Heart  were  gathered  at  the 
hammock  nettings.  Margaret  thought  of  the  sad- 
ness of  parting.  Two  men  had  shaken  hands 
only  a  moment  before.  Now  there  was  this  gulf 
of  sea  between  them.  To-morrow  they  would  be 
many  miles  apart  ;  and  who  knew  whether  they 
would  ever  meet  again,  for  all  their  wandering. 

The  bells  of  the  ships  rang  out  together,  a  furious 
peal.  Cammock,  standing  on  a  gun,  took  off  his 
hat,  and  called  for  three  cheers  for  the  sloop.  The 
sloop's  men  cheered  the  ship.  The  men  of  the 
Broken  Heart  answered  with  a  single  cheer.  The 
bells  rang  out  again,  the  colours  dipped,  the  guns 
thundered,  startling  the  pelicans.  Tucket  had 
turned  away  now,  to  help  to  secure  his  guns.  His 
helmsman  let  the  sloop  go  off  three  points.  She 
was  slipping  fast  away  now,  bound  towards  Zambo- 
Gandi.  Now  the  figures  of  the  men  could  no 
longer  be  recognized.  She  was  hidden  behind  the 
palms  of  Puyadas.  Tucket  was  gone.  Margaret 
never  saw  him  again. 

'  That  breaks  the  neck  of  that,'  said  Cammock. 
'  All  gone,  main-topgallant  yard  1 ' 

*A11  gone,  main-topgallant  yard,  sir.' 

*  Then  hoist  away.' 

Under  all  sail  the  Broken  Heart  swayed  seawards, 
treading  down  the  rollers,  creaming  a  track  across 
the  sea,  dark  now,  in  its  blueness,  with  crinkling 
wind-ruffles.  When  the  night  fell,  shutting  out  the 
Main,  and  the  stars  climbed  out,  solemn  and  golden, 
she  was  in  the  strength  of  the  trade,  rolling  to  the 
northward,  circled  by  the  gleams  of  dolphins, 
hurrying  in  sudden  fires. 

After  dark  that  night  Margaret  sat  on  the  locker- 
404 


The  END 

top,  looking  at  the  wake,  as  it  shone  below  him 
about  the  rudder.  He  was  thinking  over  his 
manifold  failure,  feeling  disgraced  and  stained,  a 
defeated,  broken  man.  Olivia  entered  quietly  from 
the  alleyway.  He  only  felt  her  enter.  There  was 
no  light  in  the  cabin.  The  steward  was  busy  with 
the  wounded. 

*  Is  that  you,  Olivia  ? '  he  asked,  knowing  that  it 
was  she.  He  felt  in  his  heart  the  gladness  which 
her  presence  always  gave  to  him.  Life  could  always 
be  noble,  he  thought,  with  that  beautiful  woman  in 
the  world. 

'  Yes,  Charles,*  she  answered.  '  I've  been  with 
the  wounded.  They're  better.  How  are  your 
wounds  ? ' 

*  Better,  thanks.    They're  always  better  at  night.' 
She  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

'  Charles,'  she  said,  *  I  want  you  not  to  brood. 
Not  to  grieve.     That's  all  over,  Charles.' 

'  Not  the  dishonour,'  he  said.  '  That  will  never 
be  over.' 

*  There  is  no  dishonour,  Charles.  You  failed. 
The  only  glory  is  failure.  All  artists  fail.  But  one 
sees  what  they  saw.     You  see  that  in  their  failure.' 

'  Ah.     Sometimes.' 

*  I  see  that  in  yours,  Charles.' 

*  Thank  you,  Olivia.' 

'  I  shall  always  see  that,  Charles,  when  I  see  you.' 

'  My  city.' 

'  Yes.     Your  city,  Charles.' 

'  It  was  for  you,  Olivia.     My  city.' 

*  I  am  proud,'  she  said  humbly. 

'  It  failed,  Olivia.     It's  in  ruins.     Yonder.' 

*  Charles,'   she    said,   kneeling,   taking  both    his 

405 


CAPTAIN  MARGARET 

hands,  hiding  her  face   against  him,  '  it  is  in  my 
heart.     That  city.     Our  city.* 

She  trembled  against  him,  drawing  her  breath. 
He  held  her  with  his  unhurt  arm,  waiting  till  the 
dear  face  would  lift,  pale  in  that  darkness,  to  the 
laying  of  the  gold  foundation. 


WILLIAM   BRENDON   AND   SON,   LTO. 
PRINTERS,    PLYMOUTH 


BT  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

A    TARPAULIN 
MUSTER 

By  JOHN    MASEFIELD 
Crown  8vo,  cloth,  y.  6d, 

*'  Mr.  Masefield's  method  is 

frankly  poetical,  colour  everywhere, 

colour  thick  and  rich.     Here  indeed 

is  life  passing  under  our  very  eyes." 

The  Manchester  Guardian. 


LONDON:   GRANT   RICHARDS 


^f 


RETURN  TO:       CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 
198  Main  Stacks 


LOAN  PERIOD     1 
Home  Use 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS. 

Renewals  and  Recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  the  due  date. 
Books  may  be  renewed  by  calling  642-3405. 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW. 

NOV   1  ^  201 

6 

FORM  NO.  DD6 
50M    1-05 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
Berkeley,  California  94720-6000 


I    r 


ifC  92952 


f 


/ 

/* • 


9164!^ 

c. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


